Chasing Trains (not Dreams)

I spend my life chasing trains;
platform-to-platform, train-to-train, town-to-town,
and it never ends, not properly anyways.
From Guildford to Woking
on to Clapham and London,
the final destination is never seen
or found; all that is seen are scenes
of houses and fields which whiz by, unnoticed.
While children play and cows graze,
on the only place they know as home,
I look for mine in the cluttered mess
but no matter how many trains or towns
I cross and leave, there is no home
just places and people who I smile in passing
and then abandon, in search for my own;
even if it were in those arms, which die eventually
I would seek it, still, for trust and security
but there is no home
(not yet anyways)
just houses of children, fields of cows
and of course, more trains,
to keep me company on rainy days
until the tracks end
in a burst of light and all is found.