On Track

 

Where the tracks lead,

no one knows.

Overgrown with weeds,

on and on they go.

Maybe once in a blue moon many years back,

trains could have ridden these tracks,

but now they are just rusted and cracked.

Signs all faded, covered with vines.

No cargo, freight, or passenger lines.

 

Where the tracks lead, you don't want to go.

They were laid centuries ago,

not by human hands,

not for traversing these lands.

Cross these tracks if you dare,

the smell of sulphur permeates the air.

A haunting feeling fills your mind,

a whiff of sadness is what you will find.

 

If you listen closely,

on quiet nights.

When the moon sits lonely

in the midnight sky.

You can sometimes hear the whistling song

of an old steam train, chugging along.

If you happen upon these tracks as darkness falls,

just sit a while, as the ghost train calls.

Carrying the souls of the departed,

lost and broken hearted, 

into lands uncharted.

 

 

Thank you for reading.

Peace, Love and Poetry.

Kyle