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Train of Eternity MAG
November 25, 2015
I’m on a train and
frankly, I don’t care where it goes.
The trees blur past me, as if lines streaked by
a paintbrush. The hard red leather seat digs
into my back.
I dip my finger into the paint, dabbing it
on the sky.
My bag, full of watercolor maps, bleeds
on the floor.
I blot my face.
Frankly, I don’t care where this train goes,
as long as
I go with it - leaving a trail of
paint cans behind, colored fingerprints
kissing the rim.
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B.R. said...
on Nov. 28 2015 at 3:03 pm
I love this poem....it helped me on a very hard journey and now I'm doing good after I read your poem -- this poem-- again and again.
