I don’t like the train whistle.
On the long lonely nights.  
It spins stories of monsters nearing.
After listening to lingering fights.  
I don’t like the rumble growing,  
Louder like the words they said.
It sparks fears of threats fulfilled
And a parent found dead.

Did the night end like the last?
Or has it finally come to pass?

I lie still and hope for sleep,
Knowing it might bring some peace
For a while, until light creeps
Through my window’s curtain crease.

I don’t like the train whistle.