From A Train

Within the razor sharp tangle
of snake pit thick growth
rise vigorous rods with
limbs bursting green
from industrial planter
of breeze block drab walls,
once home for engines growl
and worker’s sweat. Shouting
they're busy with production
of what, who remembers?
And of their dreams?
Long decayed and past.
And passed I have travelled
into shadows from brilliance
hid by black clouds swollen
so mighty and menacing
with falling springtime.
Now tears streak the
glass, soft, warm, plump
and the train rolls onwards
tracking its path through time.