Many weary travellers
On their way from A to B.
A factory, a process,
People delivery.
Arrival to departure
Planes take off and land.
Upon the travellator
The in-between folks stand.
Easily they travel
To where they’re meant to be.
They stand, they go, they fly.
Everyone but me.
I’m on the conveyor
That goes the other way,
And now I’m always running
Each and every day.
I don’t know how it happened.
It wasn’t what I planned.
There’s no way off, no way to stop,
And even if I stand
I end up where I started;
Which is no place at all.
I get back on and run again,
But then I trip and fall.
How long now I’ve been running.
Watching them go by,
Knowing that I’m left behind,
And wondering when I’ll fly.
E. Travelli 