Train horn wrapping gently around the ears,
moody, yearning and dark, crowding softly
over the eyes and passing through the nostrils
past the borders of simple awareness,
as if it has become part of the soul,
a soul filled with soft midnight sound,
and the clack of the train behind it
the last sweet knock of sentience
between now and our blessed sleep.
Nice
short, nice poem.
I could used some blessed sleep.
sounds nice…
Really enjoyed the rhythm to this poem and the first line is excellent image drawing you right into the poem.
all i can say is it was early and or i must have really liked this one as i posted this one twice…