Train

Dried roses,

Dead butterflies.

Fallen apples, fiery evening skies -

All remind me of the rushing of time.

Of autumn leaves and summertime.

I stand on the platform with my feet

On the yellow line.

A train rushes past, and in the

Chilling breeze it leaves behind.

My life flashes before my eyes.

I was not dying. I was not even close to death.

But I realised life is merely a moment

Before I am nothing but that breeze,

Those goosebumps on someone's skin.

Dust in the wind. A shadow of what once was.