Transit

This is a short poem about being on the transit.

Strangers walking through security gates

Gliding along motorized carpets

Hand bags and purse all in check

Metal detectors pressed to their skin

Passing by people and bumping shoulders

Nothing more then a constant blur

Of grey and blue, a continuos buzz

Mobile phones ringing 

Lost in translation

Entranced in a subway station

Chrome stained sliding doors 

Beeping for a sign of approval

Transit talk and carbon copy hellos

All leading to the same dead ends

Hands fidgety grasping the arm rest

Heads spinning on its hinges 

Casually making eye contact

Across the fading isles 

Lost in translation

Muffled in a subway station

Just means of communication

Just means of transportation

Author's Note

This piece is more of a lyrical piece. Hope you enjoy it and tell me what you think!

Reviews

[TheReal]

This was cool. I love that this could relate to many different scenarios. Good write.

[Coyote Poetry]

I didn't like the subways. Too many people. I was station in Germany for three years. Train station seem more friendly. People would smile and say hello. A subway in New York. Best keep moving and have limited conversation. Time is money is some places. I like the closing lines. Thank you for the thought provoking poetry.
Coyote

[Celestial Witch Child]

Oh wow. I am in love with this. It flows so well with almost a musical quality that underlies all of the rich imagery. I adore how you almost perfectly painted this picture of mindlessness with some seemingly minute aspect of a pretention of sorts. Amazing work. (:

[~LadyWolf~]

Good job!