8 P.M
And thirty minutes pass that
It's the only time
You can count the train to go by
Always
Every night
Eight thirty P.M
The train goes by
It's far from my house
But still close enough
To hear it so clearly
So many nights
My entire childhood
It was what helped me sleep
That consistent sound
Always at the same time
It lulled me to sleep
It was a comfort to hear
Drifting off
Straddling the land of dreams and realities
When the train went by
It carried me to sleep
YOU ARE READING
Leaving Behind the Endless Fields of Corn and Soybeans
PoetryEveryone has that one place in their heart. The two will always be connected, whether they love that place, or hate that place. My place? My town? I love it, I hate it. I've left it behind. This collection of poetry is about the place, the town, tha...
