I journeyed to another city,
Under clouds that told of rain,
I walked into the electric train.
With the ambient hum,
As the train raced into the wide gray yonder,
My mind began to wonder.
I thought of all the flowers,
The walks taken by the lush meadow,
Both by newlyweds and the lonely widow.
I thought of all the contrasts,
The blood in youth flowing hot and red,
Tied down, set to conform instead.
I thought of the drowning introvert:
Longing for talk truly hearty,
Trapped in many a drunken party.
I thought of all my friends:
Good chaps from many a nation,
And for each, a cup of Westernisation.
I thought of a childhood dream:
So real and profound – a proper wish,
Inseparable from me, like water to a fish.
I thought of the twinkling stars:
Flaming monstrosities dancing gleefully in the night,
Like me and my endless, anxious fright.
Then I thought of The Gift:
The grand beauty we call life,
Wasted poignantly on pointless strife.
What is the point of youth
If not to be bold?
To love and be loved to a ripe age old?
Then I felt a soft tug,
I looked about and
realised my journey had come to an end.
Calmly, I took a deep breath,
And my anxiety began to wane
after an hour on the electric train