Train Wreck
The gust are building
circling low; it gets dark.
A freight train passes,
not the ones made of steel.
The funnel barrels along,
leaving none behind.
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.