Seasons can often be described as a train journey.
But winter...
The train of winter approaches swiftly into the station,
Prepared to collect souls and go from A to B,
But something does not feel right.
The trains swiftness is masked by loud and disturbing banging of the wheels attacking the tracks.
And beneath the tracks a man is left withered by untimely fate. Near lifeless.
Ribs hollow like the surrounding sticks from fallen trees.
My trembling lip, his trembling body.
Did anyone think to try and save him in the moment?
Instead they waved flags as red as the blood trickling out of the corpses
Every plank in the tracks hosts one victim after another
And every clank of the trains wheels hides these bodies, damage in covering, to once be uncovered