unknown stations flicker by,
I see your reflection, blessing my fortune
then shivering for I realise
everything beautiful comes to an end
and from high up on the ugly, yet majestic Fernsehturm
we view a myriad of neon lights
from the sprawling metropolis below.
I reflect on the horror here before
in the dark days of the Second World War
and all the petty dramas enacted now,
the same themes in any language.
We cross the Spree and enter a bar
drinking Pilsner into the early hours.
Night train to Berlin-Alexanderplatz,
a name to grace any poem,
these magical hours swiftly glide
yet I feel a tinge of sadness for
everything beautiful comes to an end,
I dread a broken heart which cannot mend.