Sometimes, I wonder when I lay in bed,
if everytime I hear a train whistle
I’ve died and been born again.
Hollow sound passes, driven by night
when all but querulous minds are still
sharply awake, tunneling me in layers.
Only God knows where I am going.
I tried to edit it before it was too late, but it was too late. There shouldn’t be a “but” in the poem…it changes the whole meaning :( Sorry but I posted it again.
Good catch!
& I wonder where you have been…
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