A sonnet with homage to Rumi

Upon the racing rails, a brick caboose,
It sees the front, but can’t control its end,
Behind, the rail of where it did not choose,
But all alone, inside itself, a Friend.

The Friend comes in by invitation faint
And finding not a center, strikes at will
Arousing anger in the place of pain
To rouse a passion long forgotten, still

To stoke dead dreams of yesteryear seems vain,
With failing steam and creaking wheels beneath,
A trailing cab does not propel the train,
But to its God its destiny bequeath.

The schedule guarantees an outcome rend,
Better to trust and listen to the Friend.