Freedom Train

Poetic Author

Poetry AuthorFreedom is like a train.
Running fast… this freedom game.

Yet it doesn’t last,
It had to blast
to claim it’s fame.
Where is the shame?

Taken the blame,
but gone all the same.

Adjoined to the mast
in the ship for the sane?

Part of the cast,
building mats out of bast
while trying to tame
and change the insane?

It climbed the fleabane
to watch the moon wane.

It crawled in the lane
to see cars of the past
coming too fast,
so that it could cane
the innocence of pain.

It fought to gain
a window pane
to look through again.

To see them slain,
lying in the rain
across the plain,
yet burning in flame.

But I’ve won that game,
on this freedom train.