In the night, they come as phantoms,
Yet more clear than in the day,
Approaching from a distance,
They rush in from miles away.
First, a whisper in the darkness,
Barely loud enough to hear,
Coming closer, growing louder,
Like rolling thunder in an ear.
Ever nearer comes the rumbling,
More intense, increasing still,
A climax in the making,
Just outside a windowsill.
Trees tremble at their passing,
Even concrete buildings shake,
What are these monsters loosed among us,
That make our world quake?
From time to time, they rudely shriek,
And even offer plaintive wails,
Where are they from? Where do they go?
Oh, would that they could share their tales.
Dinosaurs on wheels of steel,
Lumbering through the night,
Or streaking through, if ordered to,
With flashing, colored lights.
Stirring sleepless spirits,
Invading dreams and thoughts,
Provoking aches of loneliness,
Tugging hard at empty hearts.
Lonely, mournful whistles,
Reviving memories buried deep,
Which then become primary thoughts,
Not meant to enter bedrooms,
In the middle of the night,
Yet, can't be circumvented,
Though they may be out of sight.
Tormenting hearts and souls,
Creating pains or nagging aches,
Or longings unconsoled.
A generational whim, perhaps,
Which I s'pose young folk view as trite
But such sweet pain, they cannot claim,
'Til they've ridden a train in the night.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis