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Poem

Upon the tracks of learning, a conductor stood at the fore—
Not steering a wheel but stirring minds towards motion.
Trusting in passengers whose hands would not be still,
Grasping tickets of knowledge, bound for exploration.

Learning wound along the tracks, on rails firm and wide,
Curiosity chugged through open doors, bound for destiny.
Questions rose like tempered steam, shaping wisdom steadily,
Until the whistle called a stop, where progress met efficiency.

The halt changed everything; tracks buckled in rising heat.
Patience and trust splintered like steel, then warped in defeat.
Conductors pointed fingers, stiffened, and control slipped fast.
Jolted passengers hammered the panes as fear amassed.

Blame crumpled like maps, hurled in desperate debate.
Dread clung like steel, locked in a fate set to race.
Suspicion pooled in silence—slick as oil on rails.
Bolts went flying—connections severed, crashing in trails.

Gears roared in judgment, grinding wheels in despair.
Steel seized the throttle, with nothing left to steer or spare.
The derailed train gained momentum, lurching through wild.
Conductor and passengers watched through the fogged glass—beguiled.

Waiting for the next station—what will it be?
Saturation or adaptation? Only time will see.

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