Sunday, November 8, 2015

Black Engine Draws

Black Engine Draws

We heard the hoots' becrowing words
foreboding of our steadfast griefs,
they fled to dusk - two mourning birds,
life's borderlines and false beliefs.

Two birds have pass'd in gray and black,
straight arrows fled to vanish yon
our longest trip on railway track
bemocking company and gone.

Upon our train have sat the birds,
the passengers won't go to stars
but neither will their versing words
that rhyme with unforgiven mars.

Unmoved the riders in the cars,
suspended is the pilot's gaze,
the rails become two iron bars
and death's advancing mauve bouquets.

The heads attend the engine's chug
like dancing poppies in the breeze
and none among us will debug
why are we Charon's invitees.

Black engine draws upon the rails;
the pilot, coolly, searches fore
subsequent the foggy veils,
our caravan of wagons, wore.

The souls, imprisoned, trail along
the pilot engine's wordless rites
and wait through nothingness and wrongs
the train to reach uncounted heights.

© 01-19-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(Iambic tetrameter)