He punched the ticket on the turnstile,
Entered the platform stretching a mile.
Walked to the tracks with a head full of ghosts,
Some tenants, some uninvited and some hosts.
They pulled the possessed body to the edge
Of the platform and let the mind dredge
Memories of familiar but distant lands,
Of raptures shared by the sea and golden sands.
He remembered through daze and stupor,
Happiness he lost like subtile vapour.
The endless platform he trudged alone,
Fear and despair nudged him along.
“Truth shall set you free”, he thought “they said”,
But lies are clear and present, so is the dread.
“Death walks friendless”, he sighed. “Can I be a friend?”,
“Can I trust death to honour me or is it just a fiend?”,
“Can it smudge away the lies and dread, make me wiser?”,
“Or hide in darkness its bloated wealth and prove a miser?”.
So the thoughts raced through his stormy mind,
Some with utmost clarity, others undefined.
His senses came floating back, painting a world unkind,
He took note of the platform, the tracks perfectly aligned.
Standing at the precipice of life with death’s allure near,
He abandoned hope, desire, despair and fear.
Slowly he slid his polished leather beyond the red line,
His thoughts floating towards madness, his will supine.
He found his evergreen grief rooted in moist tears,
Between shifting sands of smiles and pain through lost years.
Like a bug allured by the lustre of black light,
Charmed by the soothing embrace of night,
Bound to life by tether of cold sweat,
Chained to cadaver of dreams undead.
Dreams dragged him daily through drudge,
Through secret smiles and hidden grudge.
All gone now, blown away by winds of futile storm,
The mind’s...