A movement slow compared,
An illusion of distance, a mirage,
Hooting in alert to the masses,
Ignorance is a death penalty.
Bones crushed mixing flesh and blood to pulp,
Death is an instant relief, in body’s parts apart,
From the mercilessness of the ore,
Grinding through to a halt.
A survey is ended
The policeman from the phone shouts,
‘Let’s proceed;-
‘carcass’ is left to steam in the light of day
No case;Don’t cross trains way.
