The Passenger

The whispers on the wind speak

I do not understand

The rolling waves of the river muttering from the depths

I strain to catch the words

Singing, singing, singing

The birds are singing

Death has taken one of their own

The cycle continues

I cannot hear it.

Life all around me

Death snuffs one out

The cycle continues

And yet I am deaf to it

The sun streams down

lighting up the leaves of the trees in a golden green

But I cannot see, not really see, what is happening in the shadows

What have I become, a passenger in this world, watching from the window,

from the train

from the street

All life happens when you are not looking

But with your eyes, with your ears, you try to catch it all as it goes by

Even then it is sometimes not enough

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