This town sleeps with windows open.
The warm summer nights compel this.
Autumn will come too soon,
And early cold will
Press down from the north.
But just this night,
A rumble and squeal
At once familiar but
Out of place,
Rushes south on rusty rails.
Of hurling fire
Crashes into innocence,
Awakens all to nightmare.
Cries of “Mon Dieu! ” and
“Secours! ” echo in the dark.
Frantic figures hurry to help,
Oblivious or brave
In the face of flames.
The rail that brings
Their livelihood has
Cast the dice of downfall,
And those who lose
Are gathered in the arms
Of greedy Death.
©Charles Darnell 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Lac-Mégantic by Charles Darnell )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(10 February 1970-)
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