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Silence
On these mornings,
The sun’s warmth
Would pour into the very depths
Of our chests,
Feeding the flames
That endlessly fuels
Our internal mechanics
In the distance
The whistle from the train
Grasps hold of the thick, warm air,
Overcome by the taste of honey
As it passes across our tongues
Each morning
It’s song sails across the lake,
As this steel giant gallops down the tracks,
Slow enough to count each car,
But too fast to study their imperfections
As its tail moves beyond
The reaches of our sight,
And its song fades away,
Comes the embrace of a calm
And familiar,
Silence…
On these nights,
The moons absence
Is impossible to ignore,
As we’re left to drown in
The cold black nothing,
Tearing the very breath
From base of our lungs,
Extinguishing the flames
That once fueled our core
In the distance,
The sounds of countless trains
Rip across the cold thin air,
Overcome by the taste of iron,
As it scrapes across our lips
Each night the screeching from their brakes
Ripples across the lake,
As steal giants race furiously
Down the tangled web of tracks,
Enshrouded in chaos,
Blinded by a blizzard of coal,
Engulfed in a rainstorm of smoldering molten tar,
Disoriented by the erratic movements,
As the predators descend upon their prey,
And It is here,
that I lie,
lost.
Begging for the forgiving,
Nostalgic
Silence.
