Editing revision 4 of An Urn of Cough Drops The Silver Circle

===The Silver Circle=== ::: My soul is in a subway seat, forgotten For the moment only, preoccupied In eyeing signs of stations whizzing by. “Will someone stop to listen?” No, my pleas report in silence—splashing seas of ears unconscious; Passed along and tossed behind, but tell me tell me true! “Did any see the number on the train that just passed through?” Dismal faces distant, no dimension of expression. Among the crowd (well near to touch) no fearful apparition (Drawn from out a book an imagistic sort of riddle). Though not a one who listens, gazing, stone-faced transient stares preparing, Time and time again rehearsing, till illuminations bolt with booming crack of pistol. Cocked full tilt, envisioning doors now sliding, sliding—now they listen, Filtering all but train-made noises welling first as swelling tremors: Standing straight, then hordes a-hustle—always crowds commuting, Timed in fleeting gusts of steel rail charged aluminum. Midnight’s moonlit lighting lights the tunnel hour by hour. Subterranean railroad station’s engine cars increasing Speeds now screeching, clawing back the moment that was lost a minute past. “My soul’s aboard the subway car, not yours, but on the last! Point me to the driver—to the driver or conductor!” But still no listening, some are sitting; some are searching for a seat. Doors are hanging idly open longing locomotion from my feet. But “No,” I say “a void eternal, distanced from my soul forever, By the gap, the safety buffer—never, never touching, never far. Stationed here beneath the beeping, buzz and bustle, seams are bursting— Now below an angled sky: the brick by brick by brick of buildings high: This body I relinquish to the massive mosaic of tiles monochromatic!” (More recent, far less decent age than Reason or Romantic). But limbo is my lodging post, my roost until rotation— A soul is worth the wait, mistake it not as hope abandoned: To follow is most futile since full-circle must be fate. The ferryman can wait his turn; “My train will not be late.” ::: [[An Urn of Cough Drops The Poems of Mister Miner|The Poems of Mister Miner]] | [[An Urn of Cough Drops Commentaries on the Poems of Mister Miner The Silver Circle|Commentary]]|[[An Urn of Cough Drops Tearing at Reign|Next Poem]]

Summary:

This change is a minor edit.

Username: