Train Of Regret
The train moves slowly,
yet every sound of its wheels
presses deeper into my chest.
The windows show faces
I could have touched,
moments I let pass,
words I swallowed whole.
It is quiet in here
not the quiet of peace,
but of things left unfinished.
I do not cry.
I only sit,
watching the smoke rise,
wondering if regret
is meant to carry me forever,
or if there is a station
where it finally lets me go.
N