and the last train speeding through
ringing its arupt and startling bell
"clear the way" it says to an empty road
The night is dead
Except for the rare drunken shout from the bar across the street
the one whos last call was hours before
the trees that whisper
"it doesn't feel real"
"it can't be real"
they whisper in fear that their grief will forever remain
the window is open
I leave it open
to whisper back
"everything is temporary"
and they sob and I bite my tounge
and I swallow back the tears that fight to be free
as I know
the sun will return
and the trees will stand silent in mourning
and I will have to get up
to close the window
then I may rest my eyes
and when I awake
I will whisper again
"Everything is temporary"
and soon the trees will wilt away
and soon I will fade