The Station

I see you there, Across from me, In a corner people's eyes seldom reach, Two jaundice yellow globes part a matted sheet, A patchwork tapestry of deception and despair, Woven from a lonely soul, I walk to you, Driven by your fearless smile, Yet daunted by your hollow stare, "Spare some change for the train Sir?" The train I fear follows a different line, As the tracks run up his bony arms, Pity sets in with the sound of falling coins, On a cracked concrete floor