I’m on a bus to somewhere with a lively bunch.
We talk, and argue, and play games to pass the time,
All so busy with our entertainments and with each other
That we’re too busy to look beyond the bus
And out the window,
And it takes me a while, quite an embarrassingly long time,
To notice that sometimes, once in a while, at maybe every third or fourth stop,
Someone gets off the bus.
The bus keeps stopping, picking people up,
People who can’t wait to get to where we’re going.
We sing in our seats, we dance in the aisle,
What a joy it is on this bus!
And yet — there it is again, at that last stop,
Someone got off the bus early again!
I think I heard, or just perceived, before they exited our merry band,
A sigh, or maybe a gasp or a sob,
Then they were gone.
But our games keep going, we keep laughing,
We are the triumphal procession on this bus,
We are the sounding trumpets,
We are the Sun rising,
Who could ever want to leave such a place?
Maybe out of morbid curiosity, I don’t know,
I happen to glance out the window as we make our next stop
As people file on board, so excited to get where we’re going.
Out in the darkness, away from the bus stop street lamp,
I see hundreds, thousands of hurting people.
Millions of them, gnashing their teeth, crying out to our luxury cruise liner on wheels,
Where we are having such a marvelously fine time that
No one can hear their cries.
All on our way to heaven,
All on our bus to nowhere.