I miss the wind chimes from this morning,
I would watch the tree branches sway and rustle in the wind.
It doesn't roar like it did earlier in the evening.
I only hear the pitter-patter of rain hitting my roof.
All of it sliding down my open window and some seeping onto my walls.
The train is still speeding down it's tracks,
though I can only imagine nobody being on it.
Being a train conductor in these times must be lonely, late at night when the world has completely shut down.
No one is even touching their front door knobs.
Walking down the empty train cars must feel empty, embodying the amount of fear we all feel.
Still I hear it every hour.
Riding towards Rockport, arriving to it's empty station. Yelling every town, Gloucester, Beverly, Salem, Boston.
Imagine gaining a sore voice for an empty train car, placing an empty car, your feet against the spotless floor, no crumbs of food,
Or muddy footprints staining the tile floor.
I envy their ability to watch a different spot from their window, Watching the trees rustle in the wind, while I still sit here awaiting my next wind chime chirp.
YOU ARE READING
mind-numbingly sleepless nights
PoetryA collection of poems that I tend to write in the early hours of the morning when I can't sleep at night. Anything from love, to self love, confliction in relationships with my family, friends and myself. Random thoughts drizzled in between the line...
