The Switcher

March 9, 2011
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At the train tracks He stands.
The fate of hundreds, He changes with His hands.
A kilometre away, two roars.
That's two from town, over the bridge.
It is dusk now, and He is tired.
This is His last pull of the day.
With all His being, down with the lever.
It is stuck half way.
He pulls and pulls with His greatest endeavor.
As He grapples with the tracks, He turns toward and sees.
His son walks on the bridge, leading the train toward Him.
He has come to walk his Papa home.
Helplessness picks up its knife, and pierces His heart.
"My son, my reason for my every breath."
Knowing what will come next, He begs the train.
"Please, no!"
Fighting through His sadness, He pulls for dear life.
The train is here, and into the cars He looks.
Men and women talking, children playing.
With His son, happiness passes like a rolling thunder.
Being satisfied, Death licks his fingertips and says,
"These people, you took them from me. So for this I take him. The reason for your pathetic life."
The reaper takes his plunder,
And dematerializes with a hissing sound.
The Man wipes his tears away from his eyes.
And searches for a trace of His son anywhere.
None, except for a lock of hair and a tattered puppet.
The air is dead, and without a purpose He falls into His shadow.

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