Where The Trains Used To Run

(Written for Grace's "Please Sir, I Want More"  competition)



If I told you that none of this was mine,
And only here on your constant pre-approval,
Would you believe me?

Or would you twist it to fit your dry-drunken beliefs
And clip my wings once more,
The way I now see that you have done all along?

I want my freedom.

To go where the trains used to run,
And follow their abandoned beds,
Marveling at the Creator’s touch upon the land.

I want my life to be my own.

To bow to no-one
And to walk among the graves
Without reproach from you,
For it is there in the presence of the dead,
When I feel most alive
And the Lord comes forth in whispers
Which I pen down, lest I forget them.

Your control and fear will be your undoing,
And as you dig your own hole,
I focus my eyes on each sunrise,
Knowing there is more than I presently am allowed.

Do you hear it on the wind?

The locomotive whistle bleats in the distance,
And I will leave all of what signifies success
For what fits in one bag,
And I will ride between worlds
With the one who shares my spirit
And has become part of my soul,
The way you never wanted to be.