The Place Where Train Whistles Go

Where does the whistle sound of the train go when we no longer hear it?

 The Place Where Train Whistles Go

Sometimes I wonder

where train whistles go

When they bounce off

the far mountainside

They speak to me

in a mournful voice

then they go

their own way

to hide

I know they must

go somewhere

They’re too big to

just disappear

Do they ride the hot dry

summertime winds

to their homes in a

cave somewhere

I want to follow

a really great one

from the throat of a

passing freight train

I’d follow it past

the wandering river

stay with it through the sun

and the rain

But I think I will never

find the place

where those ghostly

voices reside

Mystery is meant

to remain obscure

Magic must have

its own place

to hide

Reviews

[Allen Smuckler]

This is a terrific write...great use of metaphors and imagery...
I, like most males have had a fascination with trains...I could hear the whistle blow and see Casey Jones tugging at the whistle... A great poem to read to my grandson... In time, I will.
I always wondered where the whistles went...now I know.
Thanks for the memories...
Allen

[Monica Chen]

Once again, I just love how quickly and smoothly I can read through your poem despite having sentences stretched over more than a couple lines. Funny story, I'm actually in the middle of finishing the last couple verses on a poem about train tracks and your four stanzas have outdone my four pages.