At these tiny old railroad stations, <br />Which my own train long ago left behind, <br />I fear for the pressing crush of people <br />Departing, who pass on this stretch of track. <br /> <br />And I would like to see myself rise <br />Above the ones waiting on the platform, <br />So that I am as far as I can be now <br />On my journey in this rattlebox life, <br /> <br />So that I know bridges and tunnels, <br />The sea-, lake-, rock-, and cityscapes, <br />So my eyes and ears are pierced with knowing, <br />With those unknown in their seats, <br /> <br />So that they'll still be sitting in Times' train, <br />Brooding at the window, watching sparks fly <br />And the flashing of the tragic signals, <br />When I long got off at the destination.<br /><br />Franz Werfel<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-old-railroad-stations/
