The Conductor

A list is kept of every penchant gauged, Of evil deeds and innocents betrayed. A guilty sting, a burn beneath their tongue The knowledge none can hide, for it will come. It's always there, a blink beyond their view, Awaiting drifting mist and settled dew. Translucent in the shadows of the day, A night wind wings it to a woeful place. The darkness of a field that has no bounds. Two tracks of molten steel have purged the ground. The weeds, ablaze in strips, a rumble rolls. A train with flaming windows stops to load. With pleading masses boarded, it embarks And leaves the smoldered, moonlit field unmarked. A distant hoot, a nook within a tree, An Owl, who watched it all, curls down to sleep. Gene Bourne 06-18-14