the train on the tracks
that twist, turn black
flailing metal weeping rust
the old ones left it broke, in the dust
infernal storm, do your worst
no fear to feed on
no dream to bend or break
forgotten trays on canister benches
grazers for the bloodied fuel
scrapping, scrounging, defecated bloom
the red blight sweeps down
rending all that is time
to falsehood, deception, a locked
steel tomb of best and bright
now dull and left behind
dream on, valiant stormbird
thou wilst find thou bravest hearts
in the dust of the new world
© Patrick Boey 2023. All rights reserved.