Standing watching the crowds flow like waves as the trains came in and out there seemed to be a manic rhythm, moments of total peace then the rush. Pushing and pulling of arms and legs, people falling over each other. Then stop peace again.
It also made me think about destination, all these people going somewhere.
Standing watching the crowds flow like waves as the trains came in and out there seemed to be a manic rhythm, moments of total peace then the rush. Pushing and pulling of arms and legs, people falling over each other. Then stop peace again.
It also made me think about destination, all these people going somewhere.
A small poem by Archibald Lampman
The Railway Station
The darkness brings no quiet here, the light
No waking: ever on my blinded brain
The flare of lights, the rush, and cry, and strain,
The engines' scream, the hiss and thunder smite:
I see the hurrying crowds, the clasp, the flight,
Faces that touch, eyes that are dim with pain:
I see the hoarse wheels turn, and the great train
Move labouring out into the bourneless night.
So many souls within its dim recesses,
So many bright, so many mournful eyes:
Mine eyes that watch grow fixed with dreams and guesses;
What threads of life, what hidden histories,
What sweet or passionate dreams and dark distresses,
What unknown thoughts, what various agonies!
It sounds a bit depressing but the light was fading, it seemed quite apt.
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