"Will this be the day that I die?"
I drive up the highway alone, north to the mountains
a familiar road, nothing to fear
until there is. Billows of white,
a wall of white that closes behind me
I drive through fog like I've never seen before
so dense & thick I can't see beyond my hood
It had not crept in on little cat feet
it was a lion that did not roar, a snake without a rattle
in an instant, visibility disappears; I cannot see lines on the road
my eyes play tricks; I can't see the road
cliff drop-offs border the right
my knuckles turn white gripping the wheel
mountains & trees lost - signposts gone - off ramps shrouded by ghosts
creeping along forever I drive as if on a tightrope
suddenly in the distance I see taillights--or is it a mirage?
I trail this beacon, praying Do not get too far ahead of me
But fog is unforgiving - the beacon vanishes as if it was never there
That's when I feel it....this is how I'm going to die
The road narrows - gravel rock crunches under tires
too close to the edge - but I can't see the edge
too late I glimpse the outline of a signpost
but I can't get over
dread replaces the pounding in my heart
terror takes hold, fuels horrific images
My car plunging over the embankment
The body of a woman found
Regrets fill my head for all the things not done
No. This can't be the day that I die
I've not yet reached my destination
I loosen my grip and get a grip on surviving
Chorus for Sisyphus (GT)
Knowledge of Greek mythology
curses, death & what not
Required the aid of a Wiki* response
to flesh out your earnest plot
Aware & forlorn your meaning came clear
like pulling teeth - an old refrain
Repeatedly the rock increases in weight
you must pull those teeth once again
Spectrum breathes by the skin of its teeth
Supporters exist by a thread
Your plight relentless - ledgers & debits
A shorter list cuts to the edge
What to do? What to do? To level the rock
your reminder in print is a start
Satin paper suggests optimism prevails
your efforts resonate to the heart
Inspired by a poet -- I'm not one, I know it
yet desire hews cracks in this confession
For struggle I do to place words in a queue
to express the measure of my passion
Pulling back from that struggle
self-released from a poet's bubble
Support for your effort remains
Enclosed you will find
my renewal in kind
Hail Sisyphus & sustainers
who have stayed
*Wikipedia
No comments:
Post a Comment