Train

My life rides forward like a train

Even with bumps and stops, the track is there

Who is the conductor I wonder

Why are all the riders in a separate car

There is a seat next to me that is empty

Cutting through the air the train propels forward

But isolating the passengers, me from feeling the air or sun on my face

It is cold but protects from the rain

I am used to it by now

Reviews

[Sergey Streltsov]

Same here
Your poetry is beautiful and strong
Your inspiration pure and chasty