modus onerariis

modus onerariis

architecture buildings business city
Photo by Burst on Pexels.com

the passing of these blessed hours
for I have failed you

I can not recall the original station where I got on, they all seem the same, various configurations of brick and tile, metal bars framing stairs, all leading to quaint towns and their common squares, I can not recall how long this ride has been, as long as I have been, time pulls forward, always in motion, a frame not unlike an old airstream trailer I imagine, from the outside, the lulling rhythmic sound kha chunk kha chunk kha chunk kha chunk, the gentle up and down glide riding the waves over land and rail, a strobe light effect, yes, like flickering, but not like flame, mechanical, a robotic toddler playing with a light switch, on off on again, billboards and advertisements plastered with memories, some graffiti, some show ragged worn edges that have succumb to weather, there is only one destination and that is never back, there is never a moment grasp just a string of them, and all those who have passed through this particular car, for a conversation, a meal, perhaps more, but in the end I am here standing holding the strap myself, I suppose my legs will tire, eventually, and retire to the uncomfortable looking seats, but, the racing pacing scenes fly by, like movies marquee in my eye, a lullaby, waking sleep as to the passage of time, for surely passed, even if this is mine, flashing bulbs pop with cut scenes, cities, forests, oceans vast, landscapes familiar and foreign, laughter, tears, and the warm indifference of fear, the dream of love to transform this form sometimes a visitor here, the sweet songs that have been sung and those not yet composed, I wonder about the conductor, never seen nor heard, but clearly there is something steering, lines laid had to be built by some purpose, by some hands, by some means, but I am a mere passenger riding out my days, as best I can.

time is not sacred but a master
love is not blind that has no eyes
a feeling
a knowing
like a tide gathering to caress the shore

a train rambling on the lines
station to station with no stops
scenes from a life in between flashes
flashes of the lights
like snapshots
flashing bulbs
the highlights and the nots
rambling
rambling on down the line

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