Unknown broken

In a full train, out of place, when the day dies, and a violin at your feet. In a full train no one stares for there is some short of sadness and reality in those eyes, As If they want to pick up the violin and play the saddest tone ever and let them all fall into tears of deep comprehension, the very comprehension that seems to be glued within your eyes, A very symbol of sadness that One like me cannot let go unadviced, but how? How can I help or how can I change? To make things right when one knows nothing, for whatever power within me has a limit in that door. And then the violin stays, and I can say no word, going down of the train, amongst the movement noise and the loudie sounds of the station I can pick a few notes developing when I am already down sad because sadness as a character cannot be helped. And then everyone in the wagon cry and perhaps some of them die.

I stay with the knowledge that there is too much to do yet.