Control

I am but a passenger

On a never-ending ride.

It’s like I’m walking on one of

Those moving walkways at an

Airport, but I never reach the end,

No matter how fast I run.

I go from compartment to compartment

Never feeling a sense

Of satisfaction.

I can’t help but wish someone else

Were in control, someone like God.

I’d imagine him to be a

Sturdy conductor with

An experienced eye

And a shiny hat.

I think of jumping off the tracks

And ending it all.

But that won’t stop this train.

It has other passengers to carry.