Just A Window On The Train Poem by Thoughts of a Single Man

It's quiet in this car
all the people are sleeping
lost in their own web of silent dreams
plating their personal schemes
plans of their destination
yet I cannot find solace
for I wade with heavy footsteps
through the murky mud of the poet
the words still flutter within my mind
the butterflies of the blinking eye
that view the the images that whip by
neon signs flashing in the distance
as this iron juggernaut
trades through the judges of these cities
the view is so calm
so still
so pretty
a painting never distracts
as I reminisce intact
in fact I can see the innards of the towns
as I pass towering structures of gleaming glass
taxi cabs trucks and buses
a passing therapy in the veil of night
even the sparkling particles
of a plane lost in its flight
I rest my cheek against the window pane
so smooth and cool
like the pen I hold so tight
winging the shifting ink
the stroke of it
flashes in the darkened compartment
leaving my dancing dots
spotting hot on the awaiting parchment
to see my hand would almost be impossible
the air bends for the phrases form so fast
as the shouting engine sends me past
the dwelling of those who faces I shall never know
the minions of the fleeting creatures of the night
once appearing then they go
time seems to slow
as I turn my gaze to the trickle of the stars
hearing the hum of the mingle of the cars
the feel of the car seat
the real of my heartbeat
thumping in time
while this iron giant twists and winds
over these tracks as I continue my journey
now the words are coming so quick
the friction of the endless diction
almost burns me
but does not concern me
for I am the poet
I write at will
linked by the ink
that spills from the feathered quill
I cannot be still
for the cup of my verse knows no fill
the eyes of an inquisitive child
up past her bedtime look at me in the dark
so I play my part
and smile all the while my hand still in motion
for unless I write there is the mental commotion
magician wave your wand
ignition when I drink the potion
and as the the sun peeks its golden eye
over the approaching horizon
the train begins to slow
and the words compliment themselves
as their ride is complete
finding their home on the empty sheet
as I rest my fevered hand
next stop
another place and another empty page

Thoughts of a Single Man 2012tm