Where did my life go ?

 Oh, how I would like my life back !

It seems the fabric of time has developed a crack,

and through it, I seem to be falling.

Every day, work, work keeps on calling

and my days melt, one into the other,

no time to do all I must cover.

 

Hours are so few

For all I have to do.

Very little to remember of this one’s day

For they are all the same.

No longer a life, no time for play !

Work, work, work is the frame

of reference, routine of little variation

is my life, sometimes a little creation.

This is where my life has gone !

Work, work, work and nothing beyond.

It has penetrated, permeated my dreams.

Work, work, work, no escape it seems ?

 B. J. “A” 2

June 3^rd 2012

The Orient Express

THE ORIENT EXPRESS

 There is this Beautiful, Ghost, Train.

She, all the time, rides the rails into my brain !

Memories of Her, will not refrain

from creating so much strain

upon the hours of my day, of my night,

as the thoughts of, are forever in flight.

Vision of our moments, forever in my sight.

The moments, now, are heavy, never are they light.

A hunting whistle, in the foggy distance, will blow.

It echoes across this barren land

all we shared, all that I know,

no longer to touch your face or take your hand.

Oh Steam Engine, ( Orient Express ), history !,

You’ve, become, as must the engine of my story.

B. J. “A” 2

June 3rd, 2012