Every night on the bus <br />I see the same vacant expressions <br />on the same faces. <br />Every night it is the <br />same routine, the same game <br />of pretending everyone <br />else is somewhere else. <br />Staring out the window <br />in the same seat at the same <br />buildings. Passing the same <br />street signs I see <br />every single night. <br />I am as vacant as the <br />slippery shadows that <br />frolic just outside my line <br />of vision. There are moments I <br />am convinced I have lost <br />my mind. There are seconds <br />I am certain I have become <br />a figure in somebody else's <br />illusionary world. Every night <br />I find myself thinking the same <br />pathethic thoughts that I always <br />extrapolate on this mundane bus ride. <br />I am a book that has not allowed <br />itself to be opened. Fresh ink on <br />the pages that has not been read. <br />Every tangled rope seems to bind <br />me tighter and tighter, until I can <br />sense the emotions leaving my soul. <br />Why do we continue to follow <br />the same patterns of disillusionment? <br />Is it that we are afraid to let <br />our hearts feel the emotions God <br />gave us to treasure? I suspect that <br />we have become so wrapped up <br />in our various performances that we <br />have forgotten that we are all of <br />the same breed.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shadows-flickering-in-the-street-lights/
