My train to nowhere
where are you leading me?
The wagons are my sleeping place
but oftentimes, I
end up gazing at the stars instead
twinkling down from the velvet sky
Visions of the past flashing by
and I weep for chances bygone
fates existent in their potentiality, and –
like a soap bubble –
fates that were not meant for me
But once morning arrives
and the windows are surrounded anew
by the now-familiar greenery
the sun reflects in my mirror eyes
and I realize: no longer am I a moon –
Where is my train taking me?
Where have I set off to so late –
yet not too soon?