At the unknown railway station
all that I know,
and all that know of me,
has been left behind.
I am as the wide-eyed boy
at the window of a terrarium,
seeing life from behind panes of glass.
It is an odd,
blissful sensation.
A detachment of life from life situation
leaving me in an instant
inexplicably light.
Yet abruptly I fall solemn,
turning my face into my hands.
For revealed through its temporary absence
is a glimpse the true weight of ’I’.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
At the unknown railway station
all that I know,
and all that know of me,
has been left behind.
I am as the wide-eyed boy
at the window of a terrarium,
seeing life from behind panes of glass.
It is an odd,
blissful sensation.
A detachment of life from life situation
leaving me in an instant
inexplicably light.
Yet abruptly I fall solemn,
turning my face into my hands.
For revealed through its temporary absence
is a glimpse the true weight of ’I’.
A poem about a short-lived experience standing outside life looking in