Poetry is a language Of powerful thoughts and imagery, it can strike in the heart of man, it can shape lives and actions. Then can it not be used to enhance to the finder qualities of man? Rather than providing shallow enjoyment? And promoting the baser instincts? If I was a poet, I would like my words To compell the soul, To pursue the true pupose of existence. Oh, what wouldn’t I give to go on collecting my reward, Beyond this life....

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Carrier

07-03-05

Slithering, sliding,
Like a giant worm,
Panting, screeching softly.
Metallic body twisting, bending
On the winding trails,
Carrying masses of live cargo
Loading and unloading
At every dock,
Again racing to
Numerous destinations.
No organic feed,
Energy gained from energy.
Delayed often, arriving late,
Live cargoes britsle in annoyance.
Yet beholden,
As they load impatiendtly
Into its humming belly.

* I wrote this after a half hour delay at Central station when I really couldn't stand it anymore.

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