You look around you –
There are scores surrounding you,
Some smile politely, then make small talk,
None of which strays beyond the weather,
Which is no longer summer –
The chill a harbinger,
Of a lonesome winter.

The train left the station
A long while ago,
You are farther from the start,
Than you are to the finish.

Despite your discomfort,
You’ve come to realise,
That the best recourse
Is to stay put,
In this bustling carriage
So full of life.

Perhaps it is,
That some of it will rub off,
On your lonesome soul,
Nudging you an inch closer to whole.

The green of the fields,
And the blue of the lake,
Rush past you,
But you don’t take them in.

As the day gives way
To a gentle night,
You try to settle in
But sleep takes a while.

In the stillness of the night
When all else is quiet,
You are finally not alone,
Seized as you are,
By your demons,
Who’ve bided their time
Rather patiently,
And come hither now
To keep you company,
Even as you cower,
And shrink within
Your flimsy blanket.