Street lamps

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

and

the trees

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

and soon

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