At the Station

653 moons have shone

through my windows

since the day I was born:

How many more will there be

before my soul takes flight

and touches its crusty surface?

I long for death the way

some people long for happiness,

yet I am not depressed:

I only seek the end of this body

that enthralls me in a dying shell

and forges its bogus signature.

What shall be revealed

is the greatest secret,

and I taste it every time

the moon rises over the trees

and whispers sweet nothings

in my inner ear.

Have no fear, sister soul,

of that spinning top

moving o'er the mountains:

It is only Liberation Train

coming to pick you up

at Blessèd Station.