The voice that speaks the language of my bones.
It tunes the strings of the orchestra my words
And so it plays a ballad so sweet , of my past memories and paths I have yet to foresee
In the paint of tears , of joy and despair , it paints  pictures that I must bear
No facades and veiled lies can scrub or mask the truth of this gallery of my own

This soul of mine an artist and a thief
To steal what I hold dear , what I so tediously have hidden
It unravels the string of shrugs , eyerolls and sarcasm
And publicises my diary of things I swore never to reveal

Its a long wait , we sit , converse , create bonds but yet we all board
The line is endless yet its length is hidden
By mists of happiness and facades of forever and always

       We forgot about our tickets and unaware of our departure time , we envelope ourselves in the hysteria of the station

    A seemingly endless vast space yet we know not of the distances covered by the train

The winding path built with the metal of dreams lost , forgotten, thrown away  and hammered with the harsh tears of the passengers
Some of joy, of ignorant bliss, yet still they fall on the alloy of wishes    

     But still the eternal ticket collector , a man of few words and frequent appearances, unceremoniously forces you in
And the metal door shuts

   The train speeds off as the boarders cling on to their seats and the conductor shares his signature grin as his skeletal hands grips  the wheel

   And his oddly shaped  cane with a sharp curved metal end rests across his legs neatly on his ironed black cloak

We tend to not appreciate it,
To ignore the calls of our winged friends,
To scorn the helpful and forgiving earth that holds the seeds of time,
To frown at the kind and sometimes harsh tears of the land,
To taint the once pristine surface with deception and broken promises.

As I sit, I feel the mournful wind as it carries the dry dead leaves to forbidden places.
I see the clouds frown and growl, their pallors darkening with bottled up anger , fuming , waiting, for an unforgiving outburst.
I feel a slight chill in the air , foreseeing a cold and ruthless near future.
Finally ,our winged companions flee, leaving us stranded in our selfishness.

Now I sit , and wait
Waiting for the sky to open with a smile of vengeance , to release upon us our well deserved undoing.

I raise my arms prepared for the blow , my last stand, but it doesn't come.
All that anger , all that sadness went as swiftly as it came, gone with the wind.
And out comes the sun , with its redeeming and forgiving light, Illuminating each surface , filling each recipient with a sense of regret ,  guilt
But that too becomes unimportant as we gather our tools of pain, prepared for another sunny day of betraying the forgiving nature as we swing , chop , throw away, deceive and manipulate like the cruel beings we've now become