Train

Even with the howl of the cold wind, and the warmth of smoke on my fingertips…I can still hear the train.

I have forgotten the confines of the day; there is nobody telling me what to do now. I can still barely hear footsteps intruding briefly, before fading away into silence.

Looking at the stars I observe galaxies; their brightness in the night sky an affirmation of my insignificance. Stars painted in the form of diamonds glittering upon black velvet, opening a door for Man’s existence with a glimmer of hope.

Sometimes I hear the train when it is not there. It is in my head, the sound resonating within tension without intent. Sometimes the footsteps are deafening.

Even in the cold as the wind blows loud…I can still hear the train…some days.