I immerse myself in the night that carries memories
I immerse myself in the night that carries memories,
with a taste of melancholy, on the platform of a forgotten station,
where souls meet only in passing,
like shadows dancing to the rhythm of a moving train.
And Jesus, with his gentle and sad face,
stood there, at the door, contemplating
the mysteries of dusk, the windows of a train
that knows no destination, only departure.
No one was there to see him leave,
just a stray moth, struggling with the station lamps,
in a final desperate farewell,
like an echo of old promises, lost in time.
The bell rang, white smoke rose,
and a jolt pulled him sideways,
into a distance where the blue and white signs
screamed "Without God,"
and the night whispered "Gone."
My thoughts mix with the shadows of the night,
in a stream of consciousness that knows no rest,
seeking answers in the emptiness of the platform,
in the silence of the neon light trembling under the moth's attack.
Every departure is a separation,
an unspoken farewell, an echo of a train
disappearing into the night, leaving behind
only the memory of a gentle and sad face,
and the question of whether we will ever find
the answer in the silence of an empty platform.
Copyright © Dan Enache | Year Posted 2024
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