Truth.

Halted trains,
Signs to a silence,
A trinkle,
The burden is now light,
Light that twists,
Receeds to a distance,
By the street lamps,
And a picket fence,
A dull mist,
Two dancers dance,
Constructed from memory,
Dancing like apes, a tradition,
Brought to a halt,
Under the kingdom of sun,
The head bent,
Through the glare,
Cold, sensations,
as I close my eyes,
In the effort to motion,
The creaking of steps,
Gaurded fences,
A need to exploit,
The manure of a world,
I walk past faces,
Following the coat,
And a cap,
And some Blinding white hair,
Purposeful,
peering through the hollows,
Walking Ghostly,
Perhaps a ride by the river,
I see myself,
One in many,
The song comes to a stop
And I follow my procession
Out reach my ability
But refine and soak in,
Into the domain of solace,
Let the story in,
Live the story,
That I wrote,
inch after inch,
To the end,
By the switch,
I walk the steps,
Into the day,
Of work,
And into a destination,
The train is now moving