Souls

Next to the rails at the train station
         there is an old graveyard
And as the trains pass the ancient thuja trees
         and the pine trees
         and the silent stones and grass of the silent souls
They watch and they whisper among themselves
         for they cannot move,
         they have seen a different world
They might have moved along, seen the world
         from the window of a train
But our world is so different, and yet, the trains still leave the old station
         As they did in yonder days.
And the trains roll busily past, huffing and puffing and waving goodbye
         They have no time to rest among the leaves,
         no time to see the world passing by,
         no time for watching silently over the coal- coloured crows;
They are busy, you know, transporting souls
         to another heaven.
They are so much alike, the trains and the dead, yet neither will know of it -
         for both are caught on their rails, cannot leave their place
They are the carriers of souls
         from one place to another
Neither not knowing what awaits them
         on the other side of the road.
Some hoping, some dreaming, some staring blankly into the sky,
         unseeing holes gaping at the empty void
         that leaves them waiting,
         watching as time dances on the cold wrought- iron fence
Witnessing a time that has moved on
         and left only the stones of the station
         and moss- grown slabs of marble
         as the world passes noisily by.