“It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry”
Can’t buy a thrill.
The endless ache for something new,
for something other than more of the same,
keeps you curious enough to wake up.
But then repetition repeats itself.
You are caught at a railroad crossing
counting the same cars of the same train.
The train seems to go faster everyday.
You are content to watch and wait.
You aren’t really headed anywhere anyway.
The point of growing old is it has no point.
The caboose will be along before you know it.
If you like this piece, and can afford it, consider donating. The Muse demands new stilettos and a better whip. It is painful to disappoint her.