Electric Hum
Near the mouth of the 110's grand start,
Where engines use to hum and journeys part.
I stand, reflecting on days now past,
In the city's quiet, shadows cast.
The road to home lies open, wide,
Yet in my chest, a melancholy tide.
For the world's not as it used to be,
Changed from the life we knew so free.
But lo, a figure on modern steed,
With masked visage, he does proceed.
An electric hum, his silent horn,
Crossing paths on this morn, forlorn.
This traveler alone impedes my way,
A sentinel of this era's fray.
In his motion, a sign of times we face,
Each at a distance, each in our space.