Is a train comes in the night carries folks and things from one place to another. Hard to say why or where it goes but it goes. Keeps going long after everyone else has drifted off to sleep and forgotten the world and its problems.
Is a cat runs underneath your feet and scampers beneath the shed in someone else's yard. Instinct or some such. Survival. Don't know where its next meal is or if there will be one.
Is a quiet in the mind when thoughts lie still for a moment before plotting the next move. The break feels good but can't last too long else death comes. Life is not for the slow of thought.
Nor is there a cat on the train dreaming of eight other lives. Nor does it sleep on your feet for a break. Nor is there time to reflect on what might have been.
Is a book with words of so-called wisdom dim folks quote for comfort. You can buy a copy second hand down at the shop and read for yourself. Make up your own mind about the truth.
Is a sadness fills your heart no matter how many words you might read. The nature of truth is such that it does not come without such melancholy. The taste of air is bittersweet.
Is a day same as all the others bleeding together like paint on a canvas. You can make a picture if your heart desires. It will express the moods of your life.
Nor is there a book of sadness that truth cannot bleed. Nor is there paint for comfort. Nor are there moods on a canvas.
In the end there is only what we know and its reflection. We catch brief glimpses before the train comes and carries it away.