Rusty Railways

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A freefall of thought

Submitted: November 06, 2011

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Submitted: November 06, 2011

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I went out looking for debate,

and it hit me like a fucking train.

Hysterical, hyperlinking, interlocking, overlapping,

licking up the scenes around me,

Carelessly grayscaled against the world yet 

it aint no two-toned Black-or-White

by twilight, and to my delight, 

it shows

darker rainbows

printed

with a darker taint.

 

Ever feel like your shadow is yourself shaded-in?

A faded version of youreself, stripped down to your senses,

straight off the shelf?

Me either. I don't doubt myself neither.

 

Ultimately, it's all stockpiled, still

buried, filed, blanketed by some ignorant denial,

and all the while, the world is caving in.

 

Challenging beliefs, or at least, I think

about what is perceived to be. 'Just be', he said.

Just be.

Regets are better than 'what ifs' and reds 

I've come to believe in complexity but if it's everyone, universal -

then why only try to understand me?

myself and I - we had a fight

with paranoia, my employer - I want to resign.

Each situation seems to be designed,

defined by signs 

from the past, or knowledge just out of my conscious grasp.

 

You can't preach to the converted

Because, in the end, or, more-

over, at the start,

It'll be diverted, deflected, shielded

Surely something's eroded?

Maybe one of these components? 

After all, we're all robots

programmed with intricate things,

like romance and the ability to have things 

forgave and forgot , so I stop. 

 

'Cos I've been struggling for a while

Had my feet 

trapped

in the tracks.

 

But such is life; this rusty railway,

and those rattles drown out my days.

 

'Cos we're all, in many ways the same - 

just gonna get on another platform, to board another time train.

 


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