The Midnight Train

If there was ever a time to sleep,

It is now.

Darkness, silence, a black bliss awaits me,

Yet they are elusive,

And why?

A question and a contemplation,

Trains of thought with no end.

A horn blows, the tracks vibrate,

And a red hot fire in this engine

Lights up an otherwise peaceful night.

The machine must go,

The cars must travel.

The whistle says nothing of the destination,

But they must move.

I wish I were their engineer,

To have some semblance of control.

But most nights I find myself at a crossing,

Waiting for the train to pass.

Praying the caboose comes soon,

And with it a dimming of these flashing lights,

A silencing of the insistent bells,

The return of calmness on these mental tracks,

So once more I might enjoy the night

And sleep.



I need you to want me.

Not as a Lover and not as my friend,

But as a reader, a student, a lost soul.

I need you, and that should be enough,

But it’s not.

A non-existent audience can be fickle,

Like your wants,

Like your needs.

You can want me,

But devotion is a murky water,

And your depth is always on trial.

I hope you break,

I entrust your life to ashes,

And one day I’ll find you,

I’ll find you wanting.

Thoughts #1

I feel as though I’ve always thought too much. My mind races when it’s unoccupied with tasks, either significant or menial, and there are things I contemplate that may seem to be odd fixations, or plausible fears, but in an attempt to share some of myself, these are the thoughts and questions that cross my unburdened mind today…

Statements that are unprovable, yet plausible:

There are exactly 5 colors that no one can see.

Plants have frequencies of communication that we can’t hear. Every time I mow my lawn there is silent screaming. Every flower I pick gives a last gasp before dying.

I die every time I fall asleep and a new version of myself is born whenever I wake up.

Everyone else sees the world in a different manner than I do.

Everyone else doesn’t exist.

That this life is Heaven and I don’t appreciate it enough.

That this life is Hell and I don’t appreciate it enough.

That I can’t feel the full spectrum of emotions.

That I’ve missed what could have been the happiest moment of my life.

That I won’t matter after I die.

That I don’t matter before I die.




I’ve been twitching lately,

My muscles acting of their own will.

First in my temple,

Then in my fingers,

Lastly, mid-back.

I told my doctor of the first.

“Would you like to do anything about it?”

No, no. I’ll see if it goes away.

I sat and stared at the second,

Feeling a helplessness and anxiety,

But ever confident in hope.

The third is crippling,

And my thumb still twitches in time with my heartbeat.

I am still but a moment

And hope always returns

Only to fall on glimmering rocks

Of reality and to abide a rhythmic aberration.




I hope to share more of myself this way. Hence the #1 in the title. Until then, unless my muse strikes a different chord.