The whistle in the wind made me turn. 

I had to consider where to begin. 

I flipped the page and contemplated the next stage of my life as the train rumbled down the tracks.

He didn’t turn to look back,

nor did he ever call to ask what he lacked.

Amy Jean

The caboose faded in the distance as I chose not to listen to the grumbling of my friends,

who seemed confident I was making a mistake.

But they didn’t understand that parting ways was a means to an end.  

I was only passing through; that’s simply all I get to do.

And so I journey alone, I don’t have a home. 

I swept many under the carpet as I blew through.

They were polluting the air, and I didn’t know what to do – the weight of the fibers held them down.

But the padding was soft; it kept them cozy and warm

until I found a path making them new so they could go through.

I explained what to do and promised I would get them home in the end where they would be free,

find peace, love, and joy & have many friends.

I often stop and look back to review the results of how I act

and noted that most had reconsidered their post.

Now proud and direct, they spoke clearly and with effect.

A few still seemed blue.

They divided white dust into lines trying to blow their minds

in a reckless attempt to grasp some temporary glory that’s mine.

I stood still for a minute, then readied myself to continue.

It was in the final second when the silence consumed me, that I uncovered the truth.

My next stage was the same as the previous page = I was the wind.

Many whistled as I passed because they knew I was fast, and they wanted to give me

a flash of glory at last.

Train Photo by Roland Lösslein on Unsplash, Woman in alley Photo by Eric Ward on Unsplash, carpet Photo by Trang Nguyen on Unsplash, wind in the field Photo by Seth schwiet on Unsplash