I woke up in the dark,
To the dismal grandeur of a castle,
Its walls defaced, scarred with beautiful engravings,
Of a past that refused to die.

There was a library,
Dusty shelves full of pages.
The rack of children's books stared,
Smiling from under a layer of dust,
An old diary with a button lock,
Holding secrets too trivial,
Poems too heartbreaking.

The large glass window in the hall looked out of a train,
Huge mountains and rivers reduced to fleeting memories,
Or faded polaroid pictures.
The sky, like a true friend,
Caught in the train's plight.

The waking up was a dream,
The castle, a head,
And I the sad traveller,
Confused in the present,
Smiling and broken in the past.