Leaving Platform One

 

My mind - dishevelled, disorderly.

As unreliable as the damp cardboard,

Spilling a childhood treasure.

 

I unearthed it in my web-strewn attic –

The box, not my mind.

An old railway set, fondly remembered, thought lost.

 

Its strength gone; contents scattered.

Track and train departed - uncoupled

And bound for darker destinations.

 

A journey into frightening unknown,

I pray to run out of steam,

Before becoming a child again.