Subway Station

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Beneath the city, deep and still,
The subway waits, a concrete thrill.
The tracks hum softly, the lights glow dim,
A quiet rhythm on a metal whim.

The crowd gathers, faces unknown,
Each lost in thought, yet not alone.
In the station's hum, there's something shared—
A sense of motion, unspoken, cared.

Graffiti marks the passing years,
Old stories etched in fading smears.
The echo of footsteps, a distant beat,
A fleeting moment in this underground street.

The train rushes in, a gust of wind,
Doors slide open, we all step in.
Strangers brushing, yet worlds apart,
Each carrying dreams, each holding a heart.

The station fades as we speed ahead,
Through tunnels where sunlight's long been shed.
But in the dark, there's a quiet grace,
A sense of life in this transient space.

We move forward, stop, and then restart,
A journey that mirrors the human heart.
For in this station, where we pause and wait,
We find connection in a fleeting state.

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