I like the sound of a runaway train
Rolling down the tracks, past a chain gang
As the train trails through the night smoking in vain
Trees, leaves, and plains retreat to refrain
From sight–
And then we swerve to the right
As we inhale trite fuel under a bright stereotype
Of stars–
In deep, lucid blue
Hanging penduously as the move to pursue
The sun–
Where they ache to belong
Hidden in light on the other side dawn
The train races clouds in rapid tranquility
Reveling in awe of their intangibility
And quickly roar past in startling servility
And the ride ends in abrupt reside.

I like the smell of twilight dew
As I walk amid nature in a mist of renew
The hope of rebirth
Mingling in mirth
The crescent moon infects my senses, too.
I wait–
I watch the path keep straight
And alleviate uncertainty of a former debate
As the path consecrates my state of mind,
I see vines intertwined under trees of a rested recline
Wrapping and clawing the smooth of the path
My feet lay drenched in a flowing bath
Of green and thorns forcefully sent
And meant to encourage impending repent
And the wind whisks by in whistling reply
And reminds me that nature is, by temperament, blind
Of life and its inherent struggle to find
Meaning and purpose in a vast paradigm
Of circles and chains and patterns, no ends
Just waves of obsolescence as it scatters, rescinds.