The Train

 A train, it passes in haste, the breeze grazing a lifeless soul

Wisps of hair dance, but she is frozen, a single tear forming

Not a blink or a start of the mouth, yet the train approaches in a blur

She is unmoved, like a lonely tree whose roots are imprisoned and whose leaves only flutter

 

One, Two, many step aboard; they blush, giggle, dream, or in anger, cry if they desire

Oh, where do they go? Who can tell? There are many paths, but no discernment

She stands and observes until the last one runs in, hand longing to be over her heart

Yet, her hand shakes with trying, but is straight, rigid, frozen nonetheless

 

They see her, but they do not see her, as they carry on without remorse

Reasons are spouted out for her stillness, yet no arm is stretched out to her

Her strands of hair wilt again, as the train passes her by

Her eyes follow it ever so longingly and she feels like chasing it

 

As the train disappears into the unreachable, she sighs

She can move again, but only to the bench called loneliness

Here, she sits with her friends, Sorrow and the Unknowing

Her shoulders drop, the tears flow, she moves away from her mourning...

 

And waits for the next train.