BB Grey–musings

The freight train steams, a beast of coal and fire,

its breath a plume of white, a ghostly spire.

It devours miles, relentless in its chase,

through valleys deep and summits it can’t erase.

 

Its hunger burns—a furnace, bright and white,

consuming all that dares to cross its sight.

In its wake, lives smolder, loves decay,

dreams reduced to ash along its way.

 

The boiler groans, its youth now brittle, spent,

on tracks laid down by hands long bent.

It rolls through cold, its spavined limbs worn thin,

each mile a testament to hardened sin.

 

At stations, nameless passengers ascend,

their weight a burden, journeys without end.

Faceless, they scavenge, pilfering the air,

their presence stealing what they cannot spare.

 

The axels stiffen; the steel giant halts,

its riders disembark, eager to exalt.

They scatter, seeking yet another host,

leaving the train behind—a fleeting ghost.

 

Dismantled, discarded, its glory gone,

the City of New Orleans rusts alone.

Its life now echoes in a mournful song,

waiting for the day it can atone.