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The car stops

The middle of the road

Deserted, quiet

A hundred miles from home

Lights flash

Blinking out a warning –

Should I be here

Or still at home,

Still in bed

The dreamscapes spreading

Like melted butter

Or redemption’s promise?

Still blinking

Yellow, orange, red

And what was it that

I came here for?

A change

A retrospect?

A reason tattooed

On life-worn skin?

A number on a page

In a book

On a shelf

Of some forgotten library

In some forsaken town

Where you leave your shoes

And your belt

At the gate

And listen as

The doors close in?

Engine silent

Stills the night

And chills the tremors

As they sleep

The cub-fox whimper

Disappearing

Swallowed by its den

And isolation’s silence

Slices

Grid marks in the night

That lead to neither

Here nor there

But feast upon

The stars,

And cat’s eyes fade

From memory

And power’s whimpered

Gasp

But dreams return

Assassin ghosts

Their fangs and claws

Exposed,

And was it this

I came here for

To drown in silent words?

Or find myself

Upon a road

That disappeared from view?

And all these signs

That I once saw

Flooding into view

Did they sprout

From idle hands

To lead me from

A home?

And was that

In the distance

Another car like mine

With tail lights dying

With the stars

In the middle of

The road?

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

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