On The Train

The train travels soundlessly.

People stand like figurines -
Glazed, untouchable -
Positioned in perfect balance
So that inertia barely moves them.

So many eyes,
With black holes for centers
Filled with - nothing;
Absorbing - nothing;
One vastness penetrating another,
They hold no emotion.

Stranger, what is your story?
Traveller, where are you heading?
Maybe we could weave a net
Of understanding deep enough
To draw emotion from this sea of people.

Even a smile could breathe warmth into this stillness -
Even the air is unmoved.

If I Could

You make me want to write, you know -
Crawl out of my skin and
Wear myself inside out
It's the wrong way, people say
But it feels right,
In that way wrong things do.

Vocabulary is stifling -
If I could show instead of tell,
I would show you the world,
Show you how the world looks
From here, where words fail,
From the center - core - heart - of
My soul - being -
The axis on which
My world - larger than earth, which only
Appears as the size of a coin in my mind
Amidst the backdrop of a vast darkness -
Rotates.

But there is no showing to be done -
Our hands could never construct
Such a language,
For hands can be touched and seen -
They are shown, they do not show -
And yes, here, where words fail
Is where we find ourselves.