The old man sits head down,
seats around him never taken.
He doesn't make a sound,
no-one looks into his eyes,
no-one even sees his face,
it’s as if it deflects your gaze.
As we hurtle through the tunnels
he lifts his head and into his eyes I glance,
The world swirls in an unearthly dance,
In and out of focus, I'm locked in place,
I fight the urge to cry,
I don't know where it came from or why,
The world shakes
like an earthquake and visions fill my head.
The whining, clacking of the escalator descending
to the pits of hell.
Never ending.
Sweltering heat rising from below,
I swear I see a red glow
and down I go.
The roars, the woeful screams.
Diseased plague pits,
where the dead never sleep,
where deceased restless bones used to sit,
not to have peaceful dreams
but to scream
in endless torment at the racing machines.
Rot and dead memories,
air filled with misery.
He was once asleep
these tunnels woke him from his peace.
When they came with their digging tools,
tore apart his final home, those uncaring ghouls.
Unsettling his old bones,
now he's cursed to ride these tunnels alone.
I return to the carriage with a start.
Only sound I hear - the thudding of my terrified heart
beating as if trying to break my rib cage,
to escape from its prison in a fit of rage.
I look to the man
but he is not there.
He must have vanished into thin air.
Thanks for reading,
Peace, Love and Poetry
Kyle
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