Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Weeping hours

Restless winds against my window. Tip taps of eager water. Friendly trains meet with harmonizing whistles. Yet my room is still. Sleep calls to me but I refuse to listen. Elements are cold and wet tonight. Cars ignore warning winds, howling. Swaying trees evoke it's dance. A storm is coming. Wary eyes weigh waiting, yet sound remains vibrant. Surely as whistles of distant trains crow. Waters will come. A quarter poured midnight.