The train’s left the station while I’m laying the track,
It’s too late to delay, there’s no going back,
Carriage full of thoughts, running on hope,
I can’t just stop, there’s no time to mope,
A nervous voice over the tannoy, “our next station is”,
Crackle of static, it drowns out in a fizz,
Passengers glancing, quick from side to side,
When did we choose to where we would ride?
As tensions rise, the voice reappears,
Fleeting thought, will this confirm our fears?
“There’s been a delay, our destination’s unclear”,
Turning around, the station’s still near,
Feelings of hope as the train slows,
Maybe now we can determine where it goes,
Look at each other, where should that be?
Eyes towards the station that we can still see,
Sudden realisation, it’s all looking back,
Where’s the future for this meaningless track?
Should it just be laid, destination aside,
Who would leave when it does arrive?
If arriving isn’t the aim but the result of action,
How do I make sure it keeps its traction?
Or how do I know my bearing’s correct?
Too much time spent trying to reflect,
Is everyone’s journey the same as mine?
I’m not the only one pretending to be fine,
Or is that what we’re all trying to do,
And I’m the one who just let’s it through.