Clacking with sounds of tracks being ridden over, listening
to their saddened journey through life alone, feeling their
experiences with loss.
Filling my mind with thoughts, feelings empathetic with what's
happened along the way, circumstances being filed away with
experiences.
Senses attuned to emotions that follow suit, keeping time
with an incessant clacking, beating in my mind while going
down tracks of definitive life.
Yesterday living on back pages of an interior book written
throughout the years, held secretly and privately within
an intellectual mind.
This mere poet divulging it a line at a time through poetry,
sending it all out to the universe to be read at anyone's
leisure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem