02.07.16
London Liverpool Street Station. Magnificent tall arches, sturdy structure, probably Victorian. A beating heart in the form of a station. The blood flows through the artium which I currently stand in. I run out through the massive arches. I see the capillary like tracks that flow from its heart.
'Final destination...'
'Final destination...'
'Shenfield'
Shenfield. Home is two stops away or 10. My decision to take 2 or 10...
It's just another night so I run, I run to the train. Why do I run to the train which only takes me to the place I dream of escaping. I pause maybe tonight I want to sit a little longer and think a little louder. My mind deserts me and becomes losted in my surroundings. My back is pressed against the stone wall by a person rushing past, then a tsunami of people cram by me, trapping me. Everyone of them moves along. Moves along. Moves along.
'Move along people'
Hop onto the slow train. Cram into the green carpeted insides. A little more time on this train will give my friends chance to run away. I give them time to move along. Why is it simpler for them to move along? Then again, if life were simple, would we all be here? Would the world rotate or would we all be to blissful to notice the shadows of over grown rosebushes blocking out the warm rays? Is life destruction or destruction life? Yes, we breathe, we walk, some us of don't see, some of us don't hear but they survive. Life is carved with many different patterns. It is a tree and every indent in the bark and every nook is a link. A link to one another. Life is everyone interlinking and simplicity is no one linking.
Can l achieve living without destruction?No. Why do I try? When I know everyone will just move along. We, humans, are stuck in a never ending cycle of destruction. Our only purpose is to repeat mistakes in order to avoid the same fate. Yet we fail everytime. Our destruction will fuel our end. Our survival will only destory others. Our survival will be our demise.
Ignorance fuels hate. Hate fueld life. Life is hate. Hate is why we are stuck in this never ending cycle.
We tumble down the tracks.
Stumble. Tumble. Stumble. Tumble.
Thump.
'Stratford. Change here for the Central, DLR and Metropolitan lines...'
YOU ARE READING
Tracks To The Road
General FictionThe nightly commute home can be quick, if I want it to be quick but tonight I think some journeys need to take a little longer...