Looking For The Churning Fire In My Soul. I Know It's There.

the sound of an old locomotive
hitching up it's bar steam-driven gears
the wheel spin on the rain slicked track
Coal gets thrown in the cauldron
The sound of the flat shovel
scraping the wooden, coal stained floor
belching into the heavenly azure
the billowy coiling blackness
obscures the warm, true ball of fire in the sky
The crow sits on the lamp post
in the station
he calls out your name
but you only look in disdain
for this poor poor creature
of such meager means
If he only knew
If she could only tell
their lives are in short denial
and I, the avatar who crouches
in the jungle
who lives your life inside you
and pushes you to do things
you wouldn't consider otherwise

Passengers in the windows
go streaming by
the coal breathing beast picks
up momentum
the faces go from discernible
expressions of excitement and
saddness
lost and focused
a child pulling on the bonnet
of a reserved and sophisticated woman
to a mixing blur
of contradictory contorted
countenances
nothing is making sense
and it all coming true
in the windows of this soul
of this steel wheeled beast