Riding on a slow train
Stop and go and
Stop and going
round in circles.
Persistent grinder just not shutting up.
She missed the peace train,
now this one has no destination.
Metre by metre grinding hope
to dust no good to the thirsty.
And the noise no more pleasant than the speed.
In anticipation of a good destination
she keeps standing in her place.
There will be air and sun and wind.
No money to light up the tunnel but
we keep a bright spirit burning.
The need to squeeze and breath
between the bodies.
She stands alone with
and internal Pain.
Only the eyes not to lie.
Destination overdue by by years
her hope stands cemented in dust.
At least it's a place to call her own,
why jump off
at destination unkown
and so hostile to victims?
And so she stands in a pool of dust
till nothing left to bleed.
Grinding on a slow train.