The whistle of the train drifts into my morning ears
Delicate fingers of light brush through my hair,
Illuminating my face
Floating, flying through my being:
An innocent climbs the mountain
to the window far above her bed.
Two blue eyes yearning for a peek.
She looks for the distant train track,
as if she might peer hard enough through the trees
that she'd catch a glimpse of her beloved transport.
Maybe, just maybe, it would stop, take her away.
She closes her eyes, and imagines being a black bird.
Twisting, tumbling, turning
in the air above the ancient steam powered train.
Fly free, Fly fast.
If she races, she might just get away.
I open my baby-blues, and she disappears
as though she were sand,
drifting away on the wind.
She drifts away from me.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
The whistle of the train drifts into my morning ears
Delicate fingers of light brush through my hair,
Illuminating my face
Floating, flying through my being:
An innocent climbs the mountain
to the window far above her bed.
Two blue eyes yearning for a peek.
She looks for the distant train track,
as if she might peer hard enough through the trees
that she'd catch a glimpse of her beloved transport.
Maybe, just maybe, it would stop, take her away.
She closes her eyes, and imagines being a black bird.
Twisting, tumbling, turning
in the air above the ancient steam powered train.
Fly free, Fly fast.
If she races, she might just get away.
I open my baby-blues, and she disappears
as though she were sand,
drifting away on the wind.
She drifts away from me.
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