No Air Poem by Angela Wybrow

I'm not up a mountain,
But stood on a train;
The lack of fresh air
Is addling my brain.

At the next station,
More people get on.
The journey is short,
But, for me, it seems long.

The air here is hot;
I'm struggling to breathe.
I'm starting to panic,
And I just want to leave.

I'm gasping for air:
My chest, it feels tight;
The passengers around me
Are unaware of my plight.

The train's really busy:
Like sardines, we are packed;
There's no moving forwards,
And there's no moving back.

I look all around me:
All I want is escape,
But, for a clear passage,
I just have to wait.

Finally...

I rush for the carriage:
The air isn't fresh,
But, at least, it is cool,
And my panic is less.

Stood in the carriage,
I feel such relief
To be free from the prison,
Which caused me such grief.