The Underground

In the twisting tunnels of a dozen cars speeding into the next station,

Countless people pass by me

In an instant, all just a blur to me,

But with lives as full and unique as mine.

And in this station, underground the bustling, huge city,

I’m a dot within the colorful map

And everyone else is, too.

Down here, we could cross paths,

But ten seconds delays one,

Or hastens the other.

One of us misses that first train

Must wait for the next

With our paths never crossing.

But the Underground is magical

In all the colors of the map,

You pick the same.

In all the dozens of doors,

You pick the same.

In all the handlebars,

You pick the same

And our paths cross.

As the train speeds through one tube,

It lights up, down another.

Your face moves from the shadows,

And each time the light reveals

Your eyes, and mine meet them.

In the Underground, the noises, the turns,

The stop and start prevents

Our talking, as one of us gets off first

And disappears into the crowd,

Hidden from view, and even if I turn around,

Your train has taken off again,

And your back in the darkness.

Until tomorrow, what I hope will be the next time

Our paths cross magically,

If timing allows,

In the twisting, crowded,

Romantic Underground.