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
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