Train of Possibility

How many stops along the way

Must the soul endure?

So many platforms

That promise solid footholds

Prove to be of short duration

Before the mud beyond

Awaits the slipping of the impetuous.

Making little difference

Whether day or night,

Ill begotten stops

Become warnings

Often ignored.

Were these drop-offs not well lit?

Did they not confirm with signage indicating

This was the termination of your chosen ride?

Yet…

Outside the station,

Unfamiliar surroundings,

Strangers unknown to you,

Encircled your unprepared willingness

To embrace the unfamiliar,

Those unexpectant needs to grow by,

That might allow your inner self to arrive,

To learn?

Most…

Hasten the running back to the terminal,

Finding they carry the sludge beneath,

Atop,

And around their feet of travel

Some choose to try and clean up,

Others track their unwelcome experience aboard

The next train.

When do the stops run out?

Must there always be a destination?

Might there be no need for stepping off?

Convention says we board to arrive somewhere,

But what if that somewhere our spirit seeks

Is not of platforms,

Stairways to a street,

Or a street to somewhere?

What if…

What is needed is that place within,

Where quintessence begs

We stop,

Breathe,

Listen,

And behold the transportation

That has worn itself out

Awaiting your pause,

Your banishment of convention’s yoke

And boarded your inner transportation of possibility.

Yes…

That no-destination place

Where one’s adamite resides,

Ready to realize naked honesty,

Void of needing to go anywhere?

Welcome aboard

Your train of possibility,

Where quiet time

Will take you where

You need to go,

To be.