There is magic here
sat alone in the
back of a hubbled
old waiting room
with a almost out
log fire
reflecting in the past.


There is a beauty
which certainly wasn't
somewhere over
the rainbow
or even
in the back of
your memories.


There is a tenderness
in the cold wind
blowing in a sea of dreams
that know if you
scream out loud
into the breeze
no-one will answer.


No-one will know
in the distance
as the snow tumbles down
ina dis-organised frenzy
how much once upon a time
you loved them
and no matter how
much you deny it
you still do.


No-one will see your
every foot-step
which are like boxes
waiting to be opened
and no-one will see
you sing softly to yourself
with a whispered hush
as you walk slowly up
and down
trying to keep yourself warm.


At the edge of the world
time seems to stand still.


The moon freezes in the sky
for just that little bit longer.


The clock on the tower
stops and starts
before stopping altogether.


And no matter
how many times
you sing it
the train will not
come any further.


And you will
still be alone.