By Kate Flournoy


Time is an engine entangled with life

That masterfully pulls all the strings.

It marches through past and future alike

And binds up the stars with its rings.


A slave to its power, I wait in my place

With my luggage piled high at my feet,

And the sidewalk beneath me is worn to a rut

As I stand and watch in the street.


Trains, at time’s bidding, zip to and fro,

And the people eternally stream,

With their hope-bleeding hearts pinned on their sleeves,

Through the doors of the Train of Their Dreams.


My luggage is smallish, and the train won’t be large—

A speck in comparison to some.

Yet still I stand waiting, drenched with the rain,

And my dream-bearing train doesn’t come.


Hope seeds, like dandelions, fly on the wind,

Undaunted by storm, wind, or rain.

The ones who I love are spreading their wings,

But unsighted still is my train.


How is it, strange life, that some trains must sleep

Long, long before they come to the gate?

My ticket stands ready—it’s here in my hand—

But my heart is learning to wait.


Kate Flournoy is a die-hard country girl raised on Tolkien and Lewis and determined to change the world. She’s a shy drama queen, timid idealist, hopeful cynic, melodramatic logician, and intellectual poet who believes that simplicity is best and everything is possible…except her ever coming to like cheesecake. Let’s not get too wild here.


You can find her blogging at, and you can get a free short story by signing up for her newsletter here.

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