The Whistle of the Midnight Train

I was born

flail chested,

heart unprotected;

struggling to breathe

and live

and exist,

with all of this pain.


Face of a child;

all alone,

only denied a smile.

What it cost

was the faith

in the wake

of the storm.


When the light only showed me

fear and mistrust,

the eyes shut out madness

and squeezed back against tears.

So clear was the image,

leading me,

coaxing me up,

off of my bed

and into the night.


Fear became my wings

and in the sliver of the moon,

I flew away.


I don’t think I turned out hard,

but neither does the stone

think it is so.

I’ve tried to care again,

but it seems

it gets no easier

further down the road.


When I packed up my soul

and ran away;

I thought that I’d found Neverland,

but it was all a lie.

A fancy and well designed cage.

No circus in the world could yet hold me.


Even with a broken heart,

even when they stole my wings,

I simply donned my shadows

and just walked away.


So far,

I have been delighted

to be here

with all of you,

but sometimes

I can hear

the whistle of the Midnight Train

and I know my ride is coming soon.


My breastbone is healed

and I have grown strong;

at least it feels so,

in the quiet moments before the dawn awakes

and breaks the sky

one light at a time

and I start looking

for good places to hide.


HG – 2016


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