Midnight Train And A Man Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Midnight, the shaking of the limbs signifies something.
He pretends to ignore the shallowness of the dark.

Focuses his attention on crying like a meadow where
the river runs free. He calls attention to the plants

in the ground, growing, changing, becoming the flowers
they will be. Dark windowed trains rushing past the clock

as it ticks. Time running on and out. Shapeless figures
on the track waiting for the train to smash them into

pieces of dust, dying emotions. Caressing the image of
his reflection, he reaches across the patterns of rejection

to touch his soul. It is sleeping. Ignoring the underlying
distress that permeates the ground. The clacking of the wheels

motivates his attention to the tobacco laden fingers that
hold nothing. Yellow stains of past mistakes hanging onto

the drunken flashes of insight and resentment. He is determined
to push ahead ply his words in the darkness of the midnight world.

Impotent sentences dangling from his freeze dried heart. He cringes
at the noise of the insects crawling madly in the ground. Distance,

numberless yearning for serenity that insists on its own sympathies.
Midnight train rambling across the brain wave of his mind.

It is cold out tonight.