Is a train comes in the night carries
folks and things from one place to another. Hard to say why or where
it goes but it goes. Keeps going long after everyone else has drifted
off to sleep and forgotten the world and its problems.
Is a cat runs underneath your feet and
scampers beneath the shed in someone else's yard. Instinct or some
such. Survival. Don't know where its next meal is or if there will be
one.
Is a quiet in the mind when thoughts
lie still for a moment before plotting the next move. The break feels
good but can't last too long else death comes. Life is not for the
slow of thought.
Nor is there a cat on the train
dreaming of eight other lives. Nor does it sleep on your feet for a
break. Nor is there time to reflect on what might have been.
Is a book with words of so-called
wisdom dim folks quote for comfort. You can buy a copy second hand
down at the shop and read for yourself. Make up your own mind about
the truth.
Is a sadness fills your heart no matter
how many words you might read. The nature of truth is such that it
does not come without such melancholy. The taste of air is
bittersweet.
Is a day same as all the others
bleeding together like paint on a canvas. You can make a picture if
your heart desires. It will express the moods of your life.
Nor is there a book of sadness that
truth cannot bleed. Nor is there paint for comfort. Nor are there
moods on a canvas.
In the end there is only what we know
and its reflection. We catch brief glimpses before the train comes
and carries it away.
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