Queueing
as the Inspector kicks us into class.
I pray I'm on the righteous carriage.
A swarm of people, flocking in at mass.
This train is my last, my final voyage.
Rueing
all my mistakes which are beyond repair
as relieved roamers fly on in their haste
I feel the Inspector's hot judging glare.
My only luggage is memories of lost dreams I'd chased.
Choices
whether to get off at the nearest stop
or brave it to the final destination.
The direction will not swap
so I may as well stay the duration.
Voices
of the billions who commute
conversing about topics which aren't too clear.
The track has been set; we can't change the route
Charging, we pick up speed, the end is near
Skies gray
fading to black.
One way
no looking back.
We pay
with Karma's attack.
Dismay;
derailed off track.
No comments:
Post a Comment