Through the moving panes

Frames pass by the small window,
Halting at stations unknown
The express moves on.

Still shots of green laced fields,
Raindrops trickle down scratched panes,
Clearing streaks of acquired dirt.

I sit back and watch the landscape drift,
Slides of a surreal show, present and past,
Floats up the murky pools of memory.

Stills frozen in time, album of old,
The lone frolics of the tiny Knight,
The attic of fantasy, where all holds.

Sweat drenched laughter in crowded trains,
The pain stained smile doused with tears,

Her incandescent smile, one I never held.

The train moves on, emptying at stations new,
As people embark  on journeys anew,
I sit back, and keep moving on.