I hear a whistle blaring It's a sound like no other Three tones perfectly out of sync Terrifying yet familiar The roar of fire within the belly of some prehistoric metal beast As the steam screams through rusted pipes And somewhere between the two Is the bellow of an unseen engineer A madman slave to his furnace Ripping away at the chord The sound wakes me from my slumber All thoughts are gone and for one blissful moment All that exists is that three toned symphony I recall a younger boy as trees and shadows flick by the glass It's unusually cold on board tonight The little boy shivers as the cold creeps The window is the only portal Through which one can see the beauty Of the night outside Trees flick by like memories, lost and blended by shadows I remember the imaginary trees Whizzing past And the roar of the wood catching As the pipe climbing from the stove whistles It's dark and seeping from the window Come the creeping fingers of cold gripping at me The fire is blistering hot, but at my back All I need to do is turn and the comforting winter embrace Is always right there waiting My chubby little fingers aren't hard and calloused yet The cold dry.. It hurts And my nose bleeds It'll be fine It always is I was never afraid of a little hurt It makes boys men But for now my train is unstoppable Tearing across an endless track The colorful carved blocks Magnets holding the links together Iron filings Grit between each faded joint The segmented spine Of a wood and metal Twisting and undulating Rattling it's little caboose In anticipation Of an unknown destination As it burns through Stained brown carpet As the fire casts shadows stretch along the floor One could imagine It is a real train The tracks are real now It's a real train that tears across them Like veins of a sleeping giant Powerless to stop the iron bullets In succession tearing through him Those tracks are beneath me now Endless Cold steel Cold and heartless But savagely effective In conjunction with the hissing pistons The metal serpent hurdles forward I can't remember where I was heading Nor where I boarded Come to think of it All lost to that whistle A cigarette burns steadily A single ember in this segmented metal tomb It overpowers my sense of smell and brings a seeming sense of clarity I remember that little boy had a similar whistle Or was it a sound he used to make with his mouth I see a triangular prism Wood with holes cut into it's three sides Yes that's the whistle The sound The sound of power The unstoppable rushing onward Wheels pulse beneath me Maybe it was gentle once, but now It's a violent shudder The metal reverberates every concussive strike Like the hammer reverberated Vicariously Against every felled spike A younger man laid these rails A younger man drove these spikes His hands are worn and calloused now Blood and sweat flow freely Salt stings only his indifference This track is endless and finally as the sun drips low The peaceful embrace of that ever present dark Playfully marching across the sky The cigarette flares with each drag The comforting reminder that each breath is numbered These tracks are endless And were placed by a much younger man remember But with that last drag Everything Even this almighty train Must have a final stop I make my way along the cars Empty and cold But there is a heat in front of me Steadily building There is an old familiarity about the sensation Steady searing heat paralleled Like this track The driving inferno forward That creeping cold at my back A younger man formed these rails Put down every length of track The timber he cut to form the pilings Spikes driven Hammered By his ****** fists Rails carried and placed Like a profane cross Upon a sinners back He is tired Like I am tired He walks into the sunset Along the path he carved for himself The silence is so peaceful Step after solitary step He looks out at the beautiful Masterpiece only he could create Never mind the soot and dust Mixed in sweat The stains that cover his aching body Never mind the staccato drip The pulse and fatigue ringing through depleted limbs A steady drip As his ****** fists Paint little red drops, like shattering stars With every click worn boots On the fresh wood and steel Every step Along this path, Is the solemn advance of a condemned monster, And on this path, Every step, Is the wretched creep of a glistening black god. I'm tired when I reach the engine room. Involuntarily I open the door. Somewhere in a dark room, A boy innocently plays with his multi-coloured desert viper Coiled deceitfully on the floor. It's burning, My lungs grasp hopelessly At the chance for brisk night air. One of my hands is chained to the lever The other to the chord. I remember walking in here once, But I can't remember any more. The familiar sound surprises me As it has every time before. A younger man With the last ash of a cigarette Stares transfixed Paralyzed stepping through the door. ...The sun on his track sets, Between his rails his feet are sure. The trees are quiet and calm. ..Still.. Peaceful in the darkness No pistons scream Or monsters roar. ..and then.. Is it behind Or within me ..I hear a whistle.