Second Thoughts

He stared at the gallant glint
Dancing on the rail in a midday sun,
And in reality he'd have appreciated
The sight had he not been on the run.

But he was in no mood for awe
Or even inner, neutral content.
His mind was fixed, rather consumed,
With the months he'd just spent.

A whistle blew from someplace
Down the line, signaling the train.
He glanced around the station,
Thinking it filled with sorrowed pain.

He fitted his hat comfortably on his head
And lifted his suitcase from it's place.
He took on the image of a traveler
Bound by a nagging, nostalgic disgrace.

The train rolled up slowly
And halted with a screech.
The platform came alive with movement
But was dead without speech.

He made his way to the door of the train
Knowing it would not be his last.
And as he entered he stopped himself,
One foot in the future, one in the past.

He took one last dying glance
Across the sullen station.
Why he did it, he had hardly a clue.
Yet there she stood looking at him
And for the first time ever he had
Absolutely no idea what to do.