The Train That Goes By Poem by Amber Jones

You are the unsettling reflection
in a cold-minded, hard-headed, drinker’s mirror,
staring with hazy, bloodshot eyes.
You are the depressing rain in the clouds,
your crystal tears failing to put out the flames
of the hell you’ve created below

and the fire you’ve left in my heart.

But I am the ice that cools the burn,
and I refuse to let you hurt me.
I am the hammer that shatters the glass,
leaving you as you are.

You are the train that goes by
loud, disquieting, and seized by the vandalism of unintelligent gangs,
leaving their mark on your precious freight.
You are the deadly thorns on the white rose.
Beautifully dangerous and misleading, you prick my finger
and watch my life drain though the wound,

and the love that depletes with it.

But I am the gardener that prunes the beautiful rose,
ridding the predator of its claws.
I am the crossing-gate arms that stop the cars
and protect them from being hit by you.

You are the scissors that cut my string,
destroying any attempt to sew our fabric back together,
the quilt is ruined.
Yet, you are also the light at the end of the dark tunnel,
tempting, however far,
you cannot trick the wanderer.

I am smarter than that now.

Because I am the compass that points to freedom,
freedom away from you.
I am the needle that threads the quilt
a quilt without you, that is.
I am everything good and everything serene,
And you will remain the unsettling reflection,
The depressing rain the clouds,
The train that goes by,
The thorns on the rose,
And the scissors,
And the light,
Yet you are still nothing.
And you will always be
Nothing.