Tracks

Darkness, darkness, light, light,

Over eyes and hands in a hundred different places,

Over cold poles and blank faces,

Until they hit the next sight

Where some will leave and others come

Like robots to their orange seats,

To sit, to stand, to leave,

As the tracks resound in their ears like drums.

And they do not want to go where they are going,

But they have no reason to stay,

And their habits and feet are guiding them on today,

Like waterdrops always searching and flowing.

So they are on to the next fix, the next sight.

And they stare like the only one there,

Where they feel no comfort, yet no fear,

But always darkness, darkness, light, light.