It’s hard

  to stop a train.

 

A moving machine

  wholesome & clean;

metal on metal,

  a clankity-clang –

 

Nine times in ten

  and a-shambles again,

compared to 

  a stopping a train.

 

 

Of two aunts once left,

  begone, 

    bereft,

of the consaguine

  family & kin,

I’ll hang on along

  all alone on the throng –

 

“Who is this man,

    and 

What was his name?”

 

 

The past & the present 

  all meld in again.

a Clickety-clack,

  it all seems insane.

 

 

It’s too hard

  to stop 

a living machine.

 

 

Life’s not a game,

  though I once thought it did.

 

I chanced it the same;

  but then, as a kid.

 

Try as I may,

  Try as I might;

I gave up 

  a pretty good fight.

 

All once familiar,

  dissimilar 

  became.

 

 

I’m a new kid in town,

  and I’m new at this game.

Yet, somehow I see

  through all of this change,

I can’t stop

  nor won’t stop

a great mighty train.

 

 

Guess I’ll just hang

  to the end of the line.

Nine times in ten

  I’d do it again.

 

 

A Clickety-clack

  and a clackety-clang,

it’s to hard

  to stop an old train.

 

 

 

 

 

©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn