Stories From the Train

Where once they sparkled,
Thrived with life and verve,
They have now been dimmed;
Glassed over, aimed low;
Aimlessly pushing through;
Already dead inside.
The rising tide of voices,
Flood over, under and through;
Without effect- emotionless,
Breaking against a broken soul.
What strange energy it takes,
To walk this path of waste-
The shards of a shattered life,
Littering an empty mind.
Where once they were held high,
They are now only so from force-
Force of habit, of expectations,
For it is so that they are.
From the depths of this darkness,
Comes a strange empathy;
One that is coupled with apathy;
That causes charming to freeze.
No interest in the aftermath;
There are no needs for emotion,
Devotion to sorrow the only path.
Yet they are an ever present flow,
Longing for the tri-ignominy of despair-
Nameless, Faceless, Loneliness.