An Epoch Poem

I

I am a man of the railway yards
And the gentle heartbeat of the subway cars
That move to the rhythm of the near and far
And end up in graves in the railway yards

And the signs in the sun of the railway yards
Reflecting off the cold, hungry cars
And the echoes of the hunger hitched near and far
On the gentle rhythm of the railway yards

II

I am a man of the dust and the rain
And the ruins of my family name
From the pallid grey waste where the fire came
And turned the water to dust and the sky to rain

III

And in the arid flats of the tainted land
Made clement by wealth and tribes and clans
The ground, parched and cracked where I stand
Is painting its name in the dust and sand

IV

The sun shines through the clearing clouds
Rays of light permeate with heavenly sounds
The birds fly above as the drums hum below
The trill of a bluejay; the thrum of a crow

Before the fire came

And turned the ashes to dust 
And the dust to tears

V

I am a man of the shimmering road
The burning flats and their cracked abode
The crunch of rubber and tar and clay
The cradle of the sun at high midday   

VI

The empty bag clumped to the ground
The compass rusted and turned all round
The food long gone and the water spare

Time is my why, water my where

I am a man of this infinite path
I once was a man of the railway yards

I am a man of the railway yard
And always a traveller of this infinite path.

Author's Note

be merciless and absolute