Behind closed doors
the people knelt and prayed
to that same god
as blackened hearts
would have them believe
except for the coming of a man.
And they beat them with whips
and they held them with chains
and haggard pains.
Old and young,
it’s all the same.
And the bones came out
to greet the sun
and the tight grins
stretched, yellow skins.
And of the thousands
who walked that road
and rode that train,
only a handful returned again.
And not a single sole was left the same.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
I do enjoy reading in some of your poems references to buses and trains (I ride them, too). ^_^
Haha, yeah.
I failed my driving test AGAIN so it’ll be public transport for a while I’d say.
🙂