Passage

Sometimes, the world felt like a train
loaded with all the despair
I'd ever heard about.
And I was trying to outrun it,
or caught standing in its headlights.

 

It carried brave passengers.
And I wept in my pillow
to hear the faint, distant sound
of them traveling to my dreams.

Without me.

 

But now  I ride the engine
buffeted by the wind of its passage,
living instead of being lived,
no longer the stranger
standing by the tracks.

 

Now I beckon to those
who still dream of riding
show them where to catch hold.