When you are riding on the pine
the train blurs the scenery outside.
Inside the car the essence of time stands still
the wheels on the track and the clock
both spin faster by their own will.
The faster the train speeds
the ride emotes the slow growth of a weed.
No driving so just pass the time
a life of uncertain paralysis a real crime.
Observe the scenery as you travel
let the cobwebs of boredom be unraveled.
Through the tunnels of light
into the sunshine of darkness
the coldness of the ride chills the bones
offsetting the current discovery
finding a purposeful meaning in this journey.
The rider continues on from the next station
finding the next ride towards a new destination.
The seasons change in the moment
if you are lucky there are fellow passengers
to share for a time in the cloudy soup
as the fog of travel thickens as the railway
curves upwards and downwards
turning to the left and the right.
The train ride will come to a stop
the final steam whistle blows as everyone gets out
to discover the destination unknown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem