On The Train (A Poem)

On The Train 

Part One 

Beneath stained and worn glass we are enticed with the image of success 

Post-secondary dreams on which we lay our deepest hopes 

A nice home, and flowering garden, with children playing 

mild comfort unbroken by life that exists outside of suburbia 

The figure below the opaque glass is smiling and seemingly knowledgable 

Though signs of disability dot the walls of the train station 

bringing into focus the reality of pain and all that life can take 

From one train station we are shown hopes of the future 

In the next we are witnesses to the crumbling infrastructure of the city 

For we all can't live within a mild mannered utopia upon gods graces 

It amazes me what can be found when one watches from a moving train. 

Part Two

2207 is the number of my slow moving train on which I ride 

I can see a middle aged woman running trying to retain slipping youth 

I see youth dressed in old world elegance trying to pretend they are old 

I see two men standing side by side, fated to know the other exists 

Though cursed to never know what the other could have done  

if they had only decided to interact and exchanged a few words   

So many lives crisscrossing yet never interacting directly 

feats of avoidance we rarely consider except in artistic mediums 

This is what I see on this train ride 

Part Three

Greasy hair and a pulled up collar 

fitting, amount the human wreakage known as poverty

a frightful gaze and fades jeans hinting at fear within the home 

while an uneasy cross of the legs portrays raw stoicism

A reflection of the glass of the train enlightens more perception   

a couple on the rocks, turmoil dwelling below the calm exterior

an acne riddled face looking at itself with sadden distaste 

willing to sell her honour for the utterance of the word love 

though one day she will be majestically beautiful though lost 

A glass man sits next to her easy to read, full of cliches 

External confidence hiding internal self hated and pity 

Told by society to love that which is beautiful and important 

though never being told where to look and find that beauty 

So skinny, her greasy hair failing to express her deep hunger 

Red eyes telling a story of which I cannot truly understand 

Part Four

Owl earrings upon a youths glazed commitment   

Engrossed in the technology that exists in her unsure hands 

Such is the quiet freedom we have granted the youth 

Released from the realities of scarcity for a short while 

Ignorant of the chain of events that made it possible 

For the mild message of boredom which encompasses her 

Red coat possibly expressing her innate belief in life 

Yet truthful she shall never know what her opinion is 

among so many yelling voices telling her what to think