From The Round Journey by Gavin Turner

But we cannot rest too long, empty spaces are filled too quick,

Onwards to the station house with a stick

The lines are drawn straight here, direct

A traveller in contemplation, mulling over

The lonely tracks of our lives

The station house is a burned out wreck

Slates slipping away, glass petals

Drop from window frames

The door is sealed shut

To visitors, for now

Time and nature building

Their own wandering decor

From the platform edge in stony beds

The sleepers cuddle beer cans

Rusting teddy bears,

A white paint line marks the starting point

For the onward journey

Must start somewhere

The final destination is already known

One day that train will steam in

Open its doors

Take you onwards ever onwards

But not yet, not today

Home still calls you