You wake up cold on the marble floor
The train’s whistle still ringing in your head
You blink in the sooty shadow of a pillar
As the rising suns turn sunlight red

The station’s people stare down at you
Impassive gazes you’ve come to expect
From a race of people always leaving or arriving They don’t understand the platform children’s stillness.

Steam fills the platform, adding to quiet disorder
As a glowing behemoth pulls into the station
Heaving and creaking, black with smoke
And streaked with rain.

Slanted sunlight washes your figure
Swirls of dust surround your form
As you stand, and stretch. A figure recreated each morning
Tangled again with the dusty station each night

The clock on the station has been broken forever
Time disintegrating, minute long years
Maybe you’ve been here tomorrow, or it might have been a thousand yesterdays from now

But you’ve never left the platform
You’ve never left this noiseless, timeless world
Walking through crowds of distorted chaos
Your quiet, ageless form.

You who sleeps on the platform’s marble floor,
your heart pumps black blood through the walls and through the veins
And you’re the millions of station people, approaching and departing from your realm.

Caretaker of the Lux Meridiem.