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Rapid appraoches the holiday.hear the rapid.... rapidly approaching metal screams on bitter frozen rails bodies shuffle and bump fifty en masse thru one tiny door all seats are festival first come less swerved all goes by in a blur thousands of brightly tiny colored lights dot the night sky huge homes full of warmth and holiday cheer so much so... that it exudes outside in expensive displays of non-chutzpah while in the depths of the projects a single electric candle lights an unshaded room the streets empty of all but the gloom three days before Christmas it would be here that the Christ child would bed if it was his time to come tonight in a humble hovel east of luxury gospel notes transcending above his angelic face on the army cot manger in a shelter of homeless and destitute he would bring warmth and eternal hope the wealthy would traipse for miles to get a glimpse... bearing gifts of gold and tokens of their 10 percent tithes to this holy gift from above but it would be the smile of a hungry child seeing the answer to his fears that would outshine all the 14 karat insincerity around me I see so many travelers people on the train all looking down as if the answers to life lay on the dirt stained floor of this car some stare into the night like me past the reflection of another years worth of age in the dusty window wondering at the lives that go on in the windows that flit by in the many hundreds of houses is there joy in those rooms of souls or sorrow that makes holidays seem futile another rapid passes by to our left faces looking briefly at other faces looking briefly at people going by in opposite directions and yet all on the same path the buildings of the city stand like colossal tombstones to the memories we all had as children coming downtown to see Santa and ice skate and eat sweet gumdrops and sugary treats then reminiscing rudely interrupted as the train lurches to a stop bodies swaying like mechanical dancers on a rickety windup toy till the bent and old hobble off first followed by the younger but disillusioned tiny children in tow wondering at this night journey following dutifully in the footsteps of their father and mother's yesteryear's the train pulls away empty disgorged of it's fleshy burden turning around to bring more back to warm homes and semi-heated hovels picking up the castaways of life in a winter's December storm and dropping them closer to what's familiar for a small fee and a forced smile "Happy holidays"... the driver mumbles as he faces seven more hours of going over and over the same tracks that never lead him further then retirement and a recliner that feels like it's moving I disappear in a flurry of snow swallowed up by revolving doors that lead to a better understanding of the hurry of the season and a rapid dissipation of another year gone by eleven bags later tired feet climb slowly up into the rapid and collapse on a bench well worn as the train heads across the icy trails of rails upon which we are transported back to our most familiar place that we call home. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Artis Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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