INTERLUDE

I sit aboard an empty train
And watch the world pass by
Behind a grimy windowpane;
As concrete contours rise and fall
In shades as grey as rainswept skies
That blight the heavens like a plague --
I turn my face and close my eyes,
And wonder when life's colors lost their sheen.
While muted shades of April green
Flash by in snatches like the fleeting years
That crowd what pass for thoughts;
Until the somber scene
Is drowned in darkness under Hudson's depths.

Penn Station -- stop -- I pack my mood away
And rush to catch the outbound Trenton train.
Then back beneath the Hudson where, again,
My thoughts return to me on click-clack wheels.

Soon last year's reeds appear in brittle guise
With heads bowed low from Winter's crippling hand;
Though beaten down, their battered husks still stand
In vain defiance of their hapless fate.

Secaucus Junction -- stop -- another train
Is due in half an hour; while I wait
On iron benches green as antique clocks
That mark the time in every village square.
And as I wait, I contemplate the hours
I've spent on other trains... on other days
And other years when I was in my prime.
And wonder how I'd thrown away my time
In transit from the cradle to the grave,
With no more purpose than the gathered dust
I brush from off my shoes.

My life has been a quiet interlude
Between two realms I dare not hope to see.
And as my final train carries me home
The world takes on a deeper shade of grey;
Too soon the rain shall come to wash away
The few traces of color that remain.

MMP
5/3/2020

On Wednesday, February 22, 2023 at 5:30:46 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> INTERLUDE
>
>
> I sit aboard an empty train
> And watch the world pass by
> Behind a grimy windowpane;
> As concrete contours rise and fall
> In shades as grey as rainswept skies
> That blight the heavens like a plague --
> I turn my face and close my eyes,
> And wonder when life's colors lost their sheen.
> While muted shades of April green
> Flash by in snatches like the fleeting years
> That crowd what pass for thoughts;
> Until the somber scene
> Is drowned in darkness under Hudson's depths.
>
> Penn Station -- stop -- I pack my mood away
> And rush to catch the outbound Trenton train.
> Then back beneath the Hudson where, again,
> My thoughts return to me on click-clack wheels.
>
> Soon last year's reeds appear in brittle guise
> With heads bowed low from Winter's crippling hand;
> Though beaten down, their battered husks still stand
> In vain defiance of their hapless fate.
>
> Secaucus Junction -- stop -- another train
> Is due in half an hour; while I wait
> On iron benches green as antique clocks
> That mark the time in every village square.
> And as I wait, I contemplate the hours
> I've spent on other trains... on other days
> And other years when I was in my prime.
> And wonder how I'd thrown away my time
> In transit from the cradle to the grave,
> With no more purpose than the gathered dust
> I brush from off my shoes.
>
> My life has been a quiet interlude
> Between two realms I dare not hope to see.
> And as my final train carries me home
> The world takes on a deeper shade of grey;
> Too soon the rain shall come to wash away
> The few traces of color that remain.
>
>
> MMP
> 5/3/2020

Classic old school poem.

On Wednesday, February 22, 2023 at 6:40:24 PM UTC-5, Will Donkey wrote:
> On Wednesday, February 22, 2023 at 5:30:46 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > INTERLUDE
> >
> >
> > I sit aboard an empty train
> > And watch the world pass by
> > Behind a grimy windowpane;
> > As concrete contours rise and fall
> > In shades as grey as rainswept skies
> > That blight the heavens like a plague --
> > I turn my face and close my eyes,
> > And wonder when life's colors lost their sheen.
> > While muted shades of April green
> > Flash by in snatches like the fleeting years
> > That crowd what pass for thoughts;
> > Until the somber scene
> > Is drowned in darkness under Hudson's depths.
> >
> > Penn Station -- stop -- I pack my mood away
> > And rush to catch the outbound Trenton train.
> > Then back beneath the Hudson where, again,
> > My thoughts return to me on click-clack wheels.
> >
> > Soon last year's reeds appear in brittle guise
> > With heads bowed low from Winter's crippling hand;
> > Though beaten down, their battered husks still stand
> > In vain defiance of their hapless fate.
> >
> > Secaucus Junction -- stop -- another train
> > Is due in half an hour; while I wait
> > On iron benches green as antique clocks
> > That mark the time in every village square.
> > And as I wait, I contemplate the hours
> > I've spent on other trains... on other days
> > And other years when I was in my prime.
> > And wonder how I'd thrown away my time
> > In transit from the cradle to the grave,
> > With no more purpose than the gathered dust
> > I brush from off my shoes.
> >
> > My life has been a quiet interlude
> > Between two realms I dare not hope to see.
> > And as my final train carries me home
> > The world takes on a deeper shade of grey;
> > Too soon the rain shall come to wash away
> > The few traces of color that remain.
> >
> >
> > MMP
> > 5/3/2020
> Classic old school poem.

Do they have Secaucus races at Secaucus Junction? The Dodo (a close relative to the Dunce) will award everybody prizes.