A bench of silence, suitcase near,
He waits beneath the glowing sphere
Of city lights and twilight's hush,
Where neon dreams and stillness brush.
The rails stretch out in violet flame,
A path unnamed, a whispered name.
Behind, the towers pierce the sky,
Stars hang like thoughts he can't deny.
The train is there, but holds its breath,
As if it, too, fears forward steps.
He leans into the purple air,
Not lost, but lingering somewhere.
The world behind him hums with glass,
Of futures shaped in steel and brass.
But trees ahead, in softened hue,
Speak of beginnings breaking through.
He’s not alone—though none are near—
The night itself leans in to hear.
A moment caught, a mind set free,
Beneath the lights of Violet City.
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