Ghost Trains

Rocking the religious boat--

I came to a stop

Slow in the land

Of ghost trains

Empty suitcases

Strewn

In lines of heather

Soft as I ran

And my fingers

They licked up

Every piece of yesterday

In this barren dust land

And as I pushed down into pocketes

That I'd wished would never end

I knew the place existed

I knew

Some hand had placed

Each

And all

Of the floral hand painted

Deep green oak handled

Sweet silk lines suitcases

Yet the question I asked

In this barren dust land

Was

Which man

Had named these roads?

 

 

Author's Note

I don't use grammar. I think it a waste. Words are words. Feelings are feelings. Screw English teachers. I don't write for text books. I write for me.

Reviews

[paradoxical]

Wow. Screw grammar indeed! No but seriously, your grammar looks okay to me, but then again I don't even worry much about mine. Ok, I was sidetracked. This poem is incredible! Thank you for sharing.

[Emily B]

this is tall, tall work, I'm glad that I came by it

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

i have always said that all religions are man made and therefore designed to their own beliefs. Loved that ending.