What were those hoots, we crossed and heard
night's premonitions tied in sheaf;
they fled in dusk - two mourning birds
guess were our marginal beliefs.
Two birds have passed, of gray and black,
straight arrows fled to vanish yon
our longest trip on railway tracks,
they'll guide in solitude and conn.
Upon our train have sat the birds,
the passengers won't go to stars,
but just the emptiness of words,
that rhymes with unforgotten mars.
Unmoved the riders in the cars,
and iced the engine pilot's gaze,
the train becomes sins' iron bars,
and death's advancement to souls blaze,
The souls imprisoned trail along,
the train's odd destiny to nights,
that wait through nothingness and wrongs,
our trip to reach infinite heights.
© G.V. 01-19-2013 All rights reserved
(Gothic Iambic Tetrameter)