Silver

A poem about a journey that happens again and again and again

The stillness of it all.

Yet I glide along on a silver serpent. 
Again pulling me from and towards home.
The faces around me, the minds wired to multiple digital worlds, not their own.
'Observe!' I scream internally. There were no more cards left to play.

Buy-to-rent signs invade my view of skyscrapers. 
Graffiti is sprinkled like a condiment: An acquired taste.
The warp-speed moment: zoosh.

Their expressions are gleefully glum and disturbingly satisfied; Grateful gremlins. 
What is wrong with standing still? Something, everything.
Surely they cannot think: 'Ho hum this is it'. 

You are not my final destination. This is not out final destination.