Words

People breathe and people live
People walk and people move
People take and people give
There are people all around
But what do the people mean?
So much of the understanding
We possess is simply pure assumption.
Do we ever ask them who we are
Or are we afraid to make and interruption?
Uninterrupted, completely ignored
So many go about
Hiding inside themselves
As they wander in and out.
If you listen close
Their words tell a tale.
Their hearts do beat.
They live, they laugh, they weep, they wail.
They have hopes and dreams
But so few hear.
I try to listen
When I am near.
They struggle, they succeed.They rise, they fall.
That's what they tell me
When they speak at all.

Trains

Life is nothing.
Life is everything.
So slowly it kills us, as if it is death itself.
Purpose is a waning feeling.
Alive today, dead tomorrow.
Are plants for beauty or poison making?
Are knives for food or for our blood?
Are trains for travel or suicide?
Is life for living or only dying?
Is hope for truth or only for happiness?
Maybe life itself is a lie.
Maybe purpose is just a dream
Fading in the flames of our pain.
Are trains for travel or suicide?