He signed up for a way to dissipate heat
To try to ignite a passion he seemed to have lost.
And played with fire he did; an escape.
A step into another's shoes.
Thrilling, filling, exhilarating
In that moment he made peace
With himself and the demons
And it became clear he wasn't losing
He was just lost, and mostly afraid
Of things he thought didn't matter
Of his own frail humanity
He's afraid to be alone
Looking at a carbon copy
Of what he say was precious
Did he finally learn
How to mean it.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts on the Train
PoetryAn hour in the morning. An hour at night. I take the train to and from work six days a week. Sometimes I read or watch videos on my phone to pass the time. Other times, when my mind grows quiet, words start stringing out of me like rabbits in a magi...
