Thousands ride the subway system in Boston every day. They’re anonymous people, right? . That idea is the Muse for this poetic story.
End of the Line
Caught in depression’s dark place
she hopped a no-name train
out-bound from her no-where life.
Metal wheels grate steel on steel
vibrations scream to emptiness
emotions scraped raw, again and again.
Unseeing people clamber on and off
cellphones plastered to deaf ears
unknowingly define her nothingness.
Surround sound automatically
projects periodic hypnotic names
leads lucid riders home, town by town.
Destiny speaks the loudest words
cut into her ragged soul
Last stop, Wonderland.