The Arrival Poem by Jan Sand

The beginning is quite subtle,
Like the tiny sound of nothing in the night.
It is an engine
A thousand miles away, discerned
By faint singing of the rails.
Whales, I have heard, can send their songs
From one shore of a sea to the other.
So, is this presence announced,
More in premonition than detection.
Dreads are cargo on this train.
Dreads welded to the walls
Of our subterreanean fantasies.
Subcutaneous icy fears, radiating
Flash of pains, thunderstorms
Of poison needles

Burrowing through skin,
Cracking bone apart,
Fragmenting memories
To dissipating bits so that
The you of you fades
Like the dying points
Of a starshell fireworks.
High priests, white and stethoscoped
Exhale anaesthetic mumbles,
Tie you down to wait
The final rolling rumble
Of the gleaming rims
Of the steel
Wheels.