Viewed from a train,
Nature is a continuous flow,
Periodically whistling again,
And buildings are mostly sad,
Probably from being pulled by our wind,
Continuously seeing the road to escape,
Knowing it will never be let in.
The sun doesn't move, though,
It's the only reminder you can't run,
There is no shelter, except from fast, opposing trains,
From its light shining on what you've done.
And then there is your place,
Among those on the train with you,
Each seeing their own world,
All of you separating, soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment