This is the cinder track.

For all those that fear to tread
now marsh time of golden autumn
back
where the tracks once lead

back there is a forgotten yard
a dormant ground from out of which grows
dead monsters of rust
once fire
now dust
mould and decay
blending into this perfect time of year.

Not quite as beautiful as one would expect
For lurking behind the October foliage
Behind
The hush which rings in the air
behind
That silence that sings like a burns victim
Lurking are the carcasses of the cinder track.

Still
lay the fallen ladies of light
sleepers
are the great lads of the track
their redundant wood bodies robbed of purpose by the concrete
smothered
are the barren mothers of coal
chalk-white kisses on engines cold and still smouldering.

A monument encased in barbed briar
broken glass and razor sharp rust
booby trapped under leaves.


Keep Out
We are Forgotten
And
We are Dangerous