The locomotives joyless cry
rolls up the hill, through my yard.
reverberates
insinuates itself
into my last few waking moments.
Visions of homeless and hobos
and far flung places
dance upon my near dreaming psyche,
taking me on a metaphysic journey
to places unshown and unknown.
The whistle fades
but box car rumbles remain,
a testament to longevity.
Not long after I escape into dreams
as the train finishes its seven midnight crossings.
Author notes
i went to bed a little later than normal last night and as i was faling asleep the midnight train rolled through town, and from where i live i can hear its horn at all seven crossings in our town- that is the inspiration for this piece.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I love the title ..
and the unspoken poem ... when you are asleep, the train still do its crossings ...
Life goes on ... beyond reality and dreams.
Blessed be.
Myra
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seven midnight crossings rocking you to dream land, thoughts wonder to the lives walking on that lonely road.as the last whistle blow softly in the distance yet another dream disappears into the night...I love trains...thank you for sharing
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this thing has been posted for over a onth and yours is the first comment...thank you...peace
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