So much rails

Calm, like something being forgiven,
The rhythm takes away everything else,
Or at least adapts it,
Shapes it,
Making it all become as one.

Moving to the same pattern.
Surfacing what was less,
Making it the same as what is more.

And what is more,
This will all last for the duration.
Time, and the rhythm of the rails,
Consuming, gentle and parental.

This is the time for moving away,
To let go and go forth,
Battle on, towards peace of process.

Sunbeams through the clouds.
Their journey is now completed,
At the back of your eye,
And in the blood,
To be embraced, processed,
And sapped of wonder.

The sun is sometimes there on the journey,
But always there at the destination.
Home or not home,
The sun is waiting.

Sometimes above the ether,
Sometimes in a room.
Other times in the excitement
Of the mind, it finds a home and makes use.

The noise is causal.
The noise of the people around, sitting and staring,
Is inevitable.

But the rails are the chariot to the new.
They have taken this journey so many times,
Trust is not wasted on them.
They know the outcome,
They know the need that drives people to them.

And conversely they understand the dullness that represents their
Use for a return.
And they swap their now-dead neon
For another voice.
They are ignored.

Over the rhythm and pace,
They let be heard;
Come back not
To the discipline, the pillars of learning.
Come back not
To these brutes, and their amber-lit numbness.
Come back not
To the hope of a place, a position on a map.

Come back to me.

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