Arthur rarely travelled by train, he was fearful of enclosed spaces
So this was a first, a one off, one of `those` special cases.
Out of all the places, he felt so at home but not at home
And there was a reason for this, the reason- he wouldn’t feel alone.
An ideal even evil couldn’t condone! Spared, if born by another
`Cause this was the tyranny enforced by sin’s scorn lover.
Even Lady Macbeth would, at best, keel from this regime of disdain
And this is what Arthur engraved in the inside of an Auschwitz headed train;

“The window acts as a frame, this painting seems out of reach
I have a taste for hope but unfamiliar ash between my teeth.
How can God be? When His conception deals such destruction
I’ve never questioned faith. I used to blame society’s corruption,
Religion prolongs death and we abide, attributed to conformity
Heaven and Hell conceived civilization accompanied w/ a deformity.
What if we mean nothing? What if suffering saved no one? What if?
I’m destined for death, the journey reinforces this, faith? I’ve lost it
Husband of one and father of two. My Life is the only self infliction.
But what’s this? . . .”

. . . Arthur never finished his inscription
Contrary to the diction, Arthur Gould wasn’t fiction and far from it
`Cause familiar voices were heard suddenly. They reached a summit!
38 trains travelled that day, but only one broke the norm convention
And no one knows whether it was fate or even divine intervention
That wasn’t of mention, we are all Arthurs, making us inseparable
But in life nothing is determined, and death is never inevitable