Spirited Solitaire

The clicketing-clacking of a subway train, rocking me with its rumbler, I slumber.  A stumbler in the evening solitaire, spirits uphold the honorable dreaming calm I wear.  My mind meanders; it moans as I roam.  With its regular rhythm, time drones on toward home.

So we two travel, streamlined and meticulous, forbearing the harrowing meantime ridiculous.  Slipping from consciousness, the noxious mess of the rail car rocking.  My head keeps knocking against the steel plating.  Now the broadcast clearly stating this is my station.

I gather my night's belonging, shuffle cross checkered floor:  pawn, king, rook, knight, bishop, queen...  escalator rises unto the near dawning.  The admirable luminary obscured by procured monoliths erected with questionable hope.  Would mankind, taken aback, make favorable note with a true to type honor, as granted to a scholar, to ponder the merits of cloud castle turrets.

Pray pursue intently the art of world betterment.  Let your mortal duress fuel a reticent success.  May mankind be your business, and the underground railroad serve its purpose:  shuttling we who downtrodden seek not the king’s pardon.