Poem: Freedom Train

“There is no accident,” the train conductor said
As the train foundered off the tracks and plunged

Straight down the side of a mountain so steep
It seemed to have no bottom, only disappeared

Into a mist, forever, until small birds even started 
flapping around your head as you hung there, 

Upside down in your seat belt--on closer look, not
Birds but bats, with wicked little fangs they used 

To peck at the soft spots on your face and neck
Drawing blood and latching on to lap it up

With long, tube like tongues, and you recall now
How the conductor’s last words echoed

And laughed, knowing you could only be in hell
Because in heaven there is no accident, only new

Life, machinery, intelligence, light, and structure, 
And me and you, in a perfect balance, dancing