Black Train Station

You will find it On an unremarkable urban street But no signs will point you Well-worn tracks That lead to it These are not made of steel No people with teary farewells Or Cheery welcomes Hugs and handshakes Lost to antiquity Unattended gardens Surround it An old squeaky gate Guards it Bland as bile Its wall Memories of institutions That room Waiting room Filled with the palliative Dying Helpless Unloved Unmoved Left waiting in Absolute At Black train station