To run the tracks of the train
To sprint till their lungs turn sore
The speed picked up,
The hands grappled on.
The strong wind blowing the hair,
The grip of the metallic poles.
The laughs and cheers;
The silence of the lamb.
The sparks of the tracks,
To jump off and run away again.
To take hold of another train
To get lost of the sides of the country
To stay quiet while all blurs by.
The running of feet never stop
Till the day trains no longer run
Till the day the world is overrun.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poems
PoetryA collection of poems that I've written about all different things. Breakups, loss of people, death, anger, etc.
