Sonnet for the Morning Train

The car is empty but for me. It glides
Ahead as smokestacks whistle secret songs
That only locomotive hearts can sing. Along
The way the lacy curtains fall to hide
The glaring sun. It’s followed me all day
On roads to stations, ticket boxes closed,
To echoes resonating from loose stones
On empty tracks that hold the ghosts of trains;
A weary traveler, beaten by the strain
Of hundreds upon thousands of attempts
To motor on. I faltered, then I fell. Contempt
Enraged a lost soul, cursing fate for pain--
Until a whistle, piercing wasted air,
Solidifies my hope of getting There.

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We wrote sonnets in creative writing. Yay.

This poem is weird for me. I started writing it with a completely different idea in mind and the poem was all "NO I'M DOING MY OWN THING" and I was like, "Alright then." However, I really like the finished product.

I think it's about how you can't get anywhere without God. You put your faith in all these other things but they can't actually take you anywhere. They're just the ghosts of trains.

Yeah. I like this poem.