Train of Time

In recent weeks, I have been caught up with a few issues that caused me to notice how fast time moves, like a Speeding Train with One last stop remaining, the grave. In poetic terms I began to ponder how one could capture this thought on a Poem.

The result of my thinking is on display below, A Poem that took very little time to compose and even less again to edit. This captures in itself how fast this time flows and when once one walked as a child, now creeps closer to the grave of old age. IF one reaches this age so to speak.

About The Poem:

Considering how fast time moves, who has not stopped for moments and pondered how swiftly time moves on? For me, it has been a moment to capture in the form of a Poem of some form.

Thus for the purpose of this poem, imagine an old man, or any person, sitting by a hedgerow pondering how Time Flows by fast. This is how the Poem starts and ends with that unanswered thought of mind.

With such a thought, one cannot afford to avoid rebuilding abridge that has been put off for so very long. Or one cannot allow pride to stop one from mending pathways that best suit a repaired road when days come to a close. Although many of these are not thoughts within the lines of the poem, They should or could find themselves within the minds of readers.

For Time is full of regrets and bridges or roads that cannot now be repaired. What Role does Pride have in such a task?

Having said all of this; Please Enjoy This Poem:

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(( The above Photograph was taken from an outside source and posted here with thanks And Copyrite remains with those who carried out such great work))

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Train of Time 



Seated silently by a hedgerow,
Watching this world pass by, ne’er slow.
Lost in thought again counting cost,
Moments repeated like morn’  frost.


The fleeting tide of time in mind,
Slowing feelings life left behind.
Ageing graceful all wish to hear
  These herds of elephants draw near.


The speeding train of time, thus fast,
Past the post where childhood games last.
All that remains, memories seeds,
Games and trills got lost with times feeds.


Teenage years battled living fears, 
To leave the lot behind those years.
Forgotten fast with Loves first kiss,
Treasured moments two chose for this.


Neither Moonlight or Roses bloom,
Inside the room growing years, lost tomb.
For this train of Time ne’er did slow,
Yet the grave calls yonder to show.


The train never slows for old time,
It whistles yonder past the cimb.
Who yet was ready for this speed?
Or agreed to follow the lead?
 

  
© Pat Fitzgerald 2025

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ENDING THOUGHTS:

Thank you for following me on my little journey, that is composing or writing poetry. If Life is a journey which we all walk on and my journey in creating Poetry is a journey of it’s own. Which I still learn much on as I write.

At times I experiment on methods or way how I can improve my poetry, therefore getting feedback is always most welcome for such as these.

When I write poetry, some readers may be offended with something within the poetry. I do not write to offend, But such are written for reasons I outline in the posts. Often I miss typos and mistakes when publishing each poem. BUT I correct the moment I discover such mistakes.

But Poetry is a form of art work that I enjoy and thus using it in a manner to touch or inspire the reader.

Thank you for joining me on this journey.

Poetry is a learning curve where I always work to improve. A lot of work goes into editing and reediting and then repeating that process on a number of occasions until I am happy with the result. This is how I operate in creating posts to share here.

Please forgive for any such mistakes and for your understanding this.

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Until Next Time Cheers. 

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