The Old Tracks
In my town and only 90 feet
from my house run a pair of old tracks,
railroad tracks older than my house,
even older than me, and I am
become old, very, very old,
like a tree whose branches betray it
with every strong gust of wind
as they fall to the ground,
leaving less and less of the old tree....
I used to walk in between
those carefully laid iron rails,
stepping lightly on the worn wood
of the old ties as though
they were made of glass....
I walked the length of my small town,
I walked the world: I walked where
passenger trains carried vibrant lives
and their once warm, now cooling dreams,
and I felt part of each life,
now gone to ether and mist--
so too shall my lonely soul
ride those rails one bright day....
Still, a freight train comes by once
or even twice a week, and I thrill to hear
its wailing horn as it cries out
for a forgotten glory, and the ground shakes
a bit as the old train lumbers slowly
by my house and I wait a holy wait
for the music of its rumbling and
the cry of its old heart as a young
engineer pulls the whistle and
sees not that he is driving Eternity.
[n/a in Brian's 'Completely your choice, #6 contest, judged 9/9/20]
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