Training Trains

The trains not even on the station, the driver still sleeping before his daily routine begins. Dreaming of destinations visited and porters whistles after the announcements are read out. The driver, yet to pass his final exam, hoping to be alone when he presses go and stop, feeling the power play on the dead man waiting.
Yet we wait on the station, imagining the chug chug sound of oncoming carriages and comfy locations flying past. there's no one here, no porter with his whistle at the ready, No speaker to read out over the loudspeaker. Lost with no destination mapped out, Weaker by the week as the frustrating bite of winters arrival blows down from the north with more of the same prayer than a lullaby of hope, with differant walls to wallpaper over with promises of better times ahead as I'm pulled from station to emotional station awaiting my departure with or without.