The Sound

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The familiar sound I hear every night,
Around the time I should be asleep,
But instead I’m quite alive.

It’s the time of night where my mind ticks like a clock,
And my body feels obliged to follow.

Where the dark silence awakens the cogs in my brain,
Where hope is born,
So that ideas can be made.

The sound,
always distant,
Passing by in it’s late night shuffle.
Reminds me of how glad I am to be at home in comfort,
Shielded from the cold,
Away from the wind’s blustery onslaught.

The sound,
is quite poignant,
From the comfort of home,
It’s shuffle on the tracks even sounds gentle alone.

It sounds,
more like toy,
Like a toy car.
Except with more wheels,
And rides on tracks,
Instead of tar.

I feel at home hearing it’s horn,
So distant and pure.
It reminds me of others,
Who are also drawn to midnight’s lure.

The sound,
from afar is lovely enough,
But up close I’ve heard,
Is actually quite rough.

A lot like day time,
It is loud, clunky and bright.
It’s sound is obnoxious and loud,
In it’s glaringly light.

But when it hits twelve,
The world outside halts,
And the motion on the tracks continue without fault.

It’s as if once the curtain is drawn,
To a close on every day,
The world seems so much meeker,
In a shade of grey.

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