Returned to the Rails

So much movement that it’s difficult to know, When to press forward and when to go slow

Trading one box for another, at least, I am told, This is just the way of things, Like this I’ll grow old

So the windy corridors and squeaking floors, Are now the small comforts keeping me warm

And though this box is smaller, and fastened down with nails, I feel some relief on my return to the rails

Thrown back into a life on the rails, With its cheap looking glass and air so stale

Surrounded on all sides by false certainties, When before their absence brought me to my knees

Dull and inactive, a freedom’s waste, It seems I need cooping up, Need to feel chased

To produce any thing of any real worth, Bother me not with free emptyness.

But even here these comforts break, And to a new stale limbo I now awake

Where time stands still, Yet I tire keeping up

With no reason or belonging, Just boarded up

Waiting, always waiting, Interminable, dull, And waiting for what, a new nailed box, a new shell

But small certainties still comfort me, so, And off into creeping nighttime I go

Arm in arm with a name from the past, Hoping to find a new place at last

And so those comforting familiar shapes, Once again peer on, through the glass

My face is warm, serene, calm, The dangers are gone and I can do no harm


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