A poem is a train,

Rhythmic lyrics hug together,

passengers are words, stuck 

Grippling with their reservations,

Strangers in the same space,

Stacked  in their seats, neat.

Commas loiter in the aisles,

A poet, inspects, strolls the stanzas,

stamping lyrical travellers in to destinies

 The train of thought heaves to a shuffling legato,

Carriages are trundling cadences,

linked by buffered themes,

Stopping, starting, sticking to the tracks,

Schwipping past an inspired station, 

missing its purpose

Procrastinating leaves, every line

delays the inevitable destination,

A full stop, a pause to refuel

The writer prepares the journey,

Buys the ticket,

hopes for thrills and beauty,

A running commentary that jolts each tilt.