Running out of Rail

An old man, eyes closed

Sitting on his fabric easy chair, squandering time, tracking back

Pulling threads together, weaving sense from long-lost loose ends

So many loose ends

Strands of disconnection now formed, held in place by understanding and acceptance

The pain remained, but was dull

Time and fading focus, blunting the edge of rage,

Like an empty view from an open window, the hunger pangs of desire, the thirst for excitement, gone now

He opened his eyes

Wondering whether this was what getting old meant

He used to look forward, dream and plan

Now, life retreated before him, like a view from a train

He was sitting on a backward-facing seat, running out of rail

The terminus was approaching, one stop to go

He stood, he screamed, no, he got out of the chair

Plenty of time to explore the train before he got there.