If there was ever a time to sleep,

It is now.

Darkness, silence, a black bliss awaits me,

Yet they are elusive,

And why?

A question and a contemplation,

Trains of thought with no end.

A horn blows, the tracks vibrate, 

And a red hot fire in this engine

Lights up an otherwise peaceful night.

The machine must go,

The cars must travel.

The whistle says nothing of the destination,

But they must move.

I wish I were their engineer,

To have some semblance of control.

But most nights I find myself at a crossing,

Waiting for the train to pass.

Praying the caboose comes soon,

And with it a dimming of these flashing lights,

A silencing of the insistent bells,

The return of calmness on these mental tracks,

So once more I might enjoy the night

And sleep.

                           —Josh Glasson

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