The Fog Train: Circles, Cycles, Scissors & Scythes

 

It’s a funneled filter yielding dreaded self-prophecy

Bent and twisted to each insecure bred whim

Hung to dry upon the tangled mangled monkey bars

In a toxic paint peeled mental jungle gym

   The pit and rot proliferate

      The poison product is unkind

         Erecting a separate play world

            To mask the hurt that’s gone behind

 

Lies and untold truths baked with tainted rationale

Spread out in rippling waves of self-denial

Hasten the decay that foils and spoils and consumes

Retracing patterns tasking life to constant trial

   Damage incurred like cancer grows

      Propagates more pain inflicted

         Fear imprisons the yearning soul

            Bound and muzzled and conflicted

 

Reasons strewn like egg shells cast upon life’s floors

Walls crack and crumble to their destined dust

Can faith be courted from a heart torn with scars

When it struggles with itself to hold that trust

   Our roads just twist and narrow

      Away from time toward waning youth

         Lined with a looming legacy

            Of pain and loss from the daunting truth

 

               We’re all runaway trains careening

                  Down a long dark wayward track

                     Tearing silently past the shadows

                        Seeking to find our own way back

 

                           (May we arrive at a safe station)

                             

                           

 

                                          s. paul  (Aug. 2020)