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Poem : The Last Bus

Quoted from Lang Leav;

"I don't think all the writers are sad, she said.

I think it's the other way around―all sad people write"

THE LAST BUS

We are sailing the sea of dim moonlight, through this bus

We are ripping the night apart into sorrow and guilt, through this bus

Is it usually this fast―the bus?

The melodious silence of the dark sky

And light tickles of the vile wind

Have we ever stepped on the same, creaking metal, of this bus?

We have our own shelters

Yours is the first

Followed by mine

But,

we have the same route; future.

This is the last bus

With you, and me, as the only passengers

No driver; no rush.

Only you, and me,

and the tragic, cracking sounds of sorry.