From. To. 

You wait at the station as trains come and go.
Soon, yours will arrive and you will leave
and begin the crossing
leaving behind the toxic yellow air
that has choked you for so long.

There is a fear in the air,
an excitement too,
leaving behind the familiar poison
for a dream,

for something you believed in
without the faith to leave,
to stop running from,
and begin running to.

About this poem

Sometimes, leaving is an act of survival.

Tom