It's 1am
and I feel compelled
to write a poem.
In the distance
a train sings it's
lonely song.
I imagine it is
going to some place
I haven't been.
Maybe Denver,
Omaha or,
Frigid Fork something
or other.
It's taking coal to the
power plant.
No adventure in that.
The train cries off
into the distance,
and I am left with
silence and this damned
ringing in my ears.
© Charles Scott 2014
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