The poem pierces the night
a whistle that rounds the track
awakening the memory of
what not yet has happened
The future always holds its death
so take care –
this could the last kind act
you get to live
Locomotive image from Pixabay
Giving hands image from Pixabay
Dear readers, in the last six weeks I had an unexpected 4-day road trip sandwiched between two planned vacations. As a result, I have not kept up with my usual pace of posting and reading/responding to posts of others. I look forward to spending more time with my blogging friends now that I am home for awhile.
Wind Rush 
Love the imagery here LuAnne.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Lindy. Somehow I have lost a link to your site. Do you still have one and if so could you give me the link. I’d love to see what you’re up to these days.
LikeLike
That is an interesting poem. Full of things to think about. We live two streets below the tracks and the whistles always stir such images for me, too. Really loved this, LuAnne.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Lady C. I was visiting family and heard the train when I woke up in the middle of the night. So I got up and worked on this poem instead of going back to sleep. I was concerned that it was too dark for my site so I am glad you enjoyed it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s interesting the differences that get stirred up for folks by the same thing. For me it’s always a reminder (when I hear their train whistle on their 2:45 a.m. run) that life goes on just fine without me to fret over it. I wrote a poem about it, too, called “Whistles in the Night.” We’re so used to those scheduled runs that often times I’ll wake up and wonder what woke me up. Then a few minutes later I’ll hear the train whistle and look at the clock and realize the train is running late. It was the silence that woke me up. I’m such a creature of habit.
LikeLiked by 1 person