Of a want of a destination

The spring of my achievement has fled
My breath now freezes on the platform
I am here with my burdens
Searching for a destination

I fled my home in winter
More cold at heart than in bones
The tracks beat the rhythm of my flight
And snow had cloaked the decay

(Yet when the train stopped in between
I dreamed of getting off
And walking into fields of white
Until the brilliance consumed me.)
Consume me.

But destinations are difficult
And I carried my burdens from the platform
To tables of slowly masticating hunchers
And lunch-supper-breakfast-lunchers

I was fed my destination at mushy lunches:
The humped backs, the shuffled steps,
The fogged eyes, the vacant stares.
I was destined for indigestion.

So I walked through uniform woods
To slide idle hands in winter pockets
But the closeness of the trees
Couldn't hide my loneliness from me

I purposefully evade my sense of purpose
And stuff the present in my eyes
Until I'm presently blind
And all I've done is flee and flee

I will carry my burdens from the platform
Past tables of slowly striking keyboard hunchers
And nine-to-five five-to-niners...
I'm finding destinations difficult.