The Passenger

 

There’s a sun shining-

And a warmth.

There’s inexorable joy:

A mother smiling for her boy.

He is lisping in sing-song.

It’s a world of colour-

But before long,

There comes a train-

And in, flows the misled throng.

 

His mother puts him on.

There’s a sign:

A red circle,

Spliced through by blue.

A caution, if you will.

But still she puts him on.

 

After tears are taken away by momentum,

There comes a lullaby:

The train’s monotone

The ceaseless groan,

Sculpting this boy-

Into yet another drone.

 

He boarded this train-

Speaking half nonsense,

Half verse.

But now words are fed:

Word’s of hypocrisy,

Not those of lyricy-

That honed him his own.

 

A train full of faces.

Everybody is on it:

Sacrificing soul-

For the train’s ambivalent ambition

The guileful mission

 

 

There’s an occasional shudder,

with the passing of yet another:

Vicariously striving,

In life’s cold shouldered lane.

A chance to escape,

But no they remain.

 

There’s a dreary loop on rewind-

Warning them of the gap to mind.

If the boy would only leap:

He would find-

Unrestraint, bodily and in the mind.

 

He makes a call:

The dialling tone beeps.

Then Silence.

Silence.

No reception between boy and reality:

Oh the Calamity!

 

There’s green outside,

taking over beaten tracks-

The past softly speaking of others on the train,

Fully faulted with sealed cracks:

The one way thought plain.

The boy, there in maim remain.

 

You see;

The tracks, they go on-

But this world is unduly heavy,

Without imagination our levee.

 

But there will come a point-

For his heart to anoint,

With his passions grease-

And no aspect of caprice.

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