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Great Train
Our most exalted
trains of human thought
make not their way
by tempered tracks of steel,

Nor seek to seal the times
at which they arrive,
each, at our intellect's
most exalted destinations.

In every great age lived,
great thought exists unfoiled,
lissome, present.

Whether past, or future
our time is arched
by fate annexed, in essence,

To divination's purse placed upon
the lips of they who are
Its servants.

Great curse!
When 'thought' itself is but
forsaken for the lessons
of the past.

Befuddled and crazed
by the hourglass gazed
marking lonely times
on our behalf,

Our conscious moment but passes -
in memoriam.

And reader, weep!

For when your time is due
hap-chance today it could be true,
it will be upon you too
to do over and again

That which your parents
and theirs before them did
and laugh and cry
and fail, but try

To build those lofty tracks on high
for all to see,
for all to be,
and all to bid..


An eternity
in the making..
and leniently mended

And too, by breaking
that which we had
and which we hail now
to be fruitless.

All thoughts which prevail
at time of writing,
All thoughts which survive
the torments of time,
All thoughts which strive
To improve our lot,
All thoughts which charm
our worried heart's-minds,
All thoughts which undermine
prevailing wisdom,
All thoughts which love us
and those who love them back,
All thoughts which save us
from all dread hellfires,
All murderous thoughts
which would as soon as see us dead..

In which way do they run,
these thoughts untold,
for you and I, that rattle
sempiternally in our collective head?

To know would be to succumb
to a folly too severe
to suffer and re-awake
and even then to re-appear..

still human, and not a seer
nor seraph, ignis fatuus or..
perhaps just plainly drear
and poorly spent -
as arbitrarily as 'thought' itself
can still wither, die
and drop from over-planted vine.

It is our fate
to know not - fate.

Yet we curtly build and lay
short, oft' craven tracks,
pitched for one way journeys
aloft the mounting, unhinged stacks

With no way back from
whence we should arrive;
at our mishap destinations
for as long as we're alive.

So which thoughts are good?
I hear you ask -
'tis up to you..

The question should be:

These thoughts of ours,
HOW do they go?

One answer may be thus:

On tracks unbound by land,
tracks unconcerned with flight,
or costs thereof, at least contrite.
Choosing not to travel straight
and not to travel curved,
not just past or present
time is of the essence
yet deserving of both
ignorance and merit.
Go left and right
go up and down
go far away
stay close
to town
or null
or all.

Given all these ways
in which to run,
thoughts themselves choose none -
not any - under our parvenu sun..

Yet, as always
and as dim-lit
as the feintest dullard
would permit..

Across all the man-laid
tracts of monumental steel
from which to choose..
we so often call forth lies
in lieu of what forsooth, is real
in order that our outing
abroad aboard our thoughts,
is but a dulcet one,
and to kindly keep short,
the unpleasantries,
which would otherwise extort
action and commitments that hardly
could be won..
such as feeding starving children,
this problem still undone, does not sleep
as many of us seem to be able to do
even when alarm bells sell so cheap..
or perhaps by stopping warring
just long enough to weep,
we can make a start
to grow our hearts
instead of all the military arts.

What of thoughts of hearts?
Concealed - from our own selves mostly,
stamped - 'never to reveal'

Why are there not more,
many more tracks built
based on love and common good?

They are there of course
in all glory yet desolate;
they do occur.

But one peerless train
on gleaming track
pursing all else up
onto its illimitable, pullulated back..
This Satan's horse, roughshod,
clamouring for victory over all
and it's benighted passengers,
is the spectre of ignorance,
worse than any thought at all!

Its babel track does spiral
inward and down upon us
for no other covenant
than that which simply
makes us Human, if not honest.
And bade welcome - not good riddance;
truly empty of thought,
yet still popularly ridden,
it is the only track, if any,
that would surely destroy us all.
Copyright © Ben Kross

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