...The Ghost Train...

Tiny fragments
and secluded imperfections
riding on the ghost train
miniscule bits
of broken teeth
scabs of youth
scars of time
riding on the ghost train
stretched like canvas
across the landscape
of my life
the tracks go on
ahead...
across my face
tell tale lines
of the departure
and the destination
illegitimate children
turn in their wombs
only just now
revealing themselves
only now
gaining passage
riding on the ghost train
insidious habits
entwining themselves
around unsuspecting ankles
riding on the ghost train
infant and old woman
hand in hand
cradle to the grave
bittersweet
love and loss
fragility and strength
once elastic
now tired
and slow
riding on the ghost train
skulls made of gun metal
and bleached bony fingertips
writing down lines
recording the trip
traveling so very fast
riding on the ghost train

at long last
we all arrive at the terminal
with our one way fare
(paid a long, long time ago)
and the tunnel lays dark
before us
we are expected to keep traveling
we are supposed to have faith
we are aware that we are
no more
riding on the ghost train