To The End Of The Line

Metaphorical poem of a potential tomorrow.

I sense the destination of this train
though the travelers quaff sparkling wine
and engage in stylish talk,
the rattling of my bones
will not be stilled.

Several stops between boarding
and supposed destination,
(the knowing among us are not fooled)

But I cannot jump carriage
and leave my offspring
unprotected, bereft...

So I sit tight and my mouth
refuses to divulge the very worst
of what I have been shown,

metal girded muteness.

So we sing together and laugh.
At least we try;
And the pink hue in the distant sky
is a new tomorrow.

Or so I tell them...
Listen to Poem...

To The End Of The Line - Alison Stormwolf

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