Train ride home

Who painted the fields yellow with oils so thick, rich, bold and stark

That they pierce through the retina and numb the mind with their beauty

They wash any thought from the head with their sheer power

Lighter than the non-existent sun on this misty and drizzling day


And who spilt the large pond that sleeps so still in the green fields beyond

Grey as the murky sky, yet peaceful and calm as a resting dove; no ripples of distress

Carelessly dropped there and sprawling itself across the landscape

Yet appreciated for its dark and mysterious tranquillity that soothes the bright colour of summer


Who set the weather today to rest heavy on the horizon and numb the late May air

An intangible mist of cloud and rain gently spewing out its insides in a dusky light

It tinges everything with dull grey as if wanting to sap the life from the world

It has strayed eerily right across the landscape, a dull and hopeless threat


Who planted each tree, supplying all other living organisms with the ability to breathe

Construing the depths of the sky by lingering upwards and aiming to touch the clouds

Climbing to an unreachable destination that they still, inevitably, grasp for

And from the view of a meek person who stares up at their sheer expanse, they’re there


And who put this train track here, rusting and black and burnt, scarring the landscape

Noise emptying surrounding fields of intimidated creatures who flee to somewhere calmer

The metal tube with false slaps of color and corporate writing rattles along the ugly, smokey tracks

And stains the horizon with broken peace and destroyed serenity

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