Peripheral
Inner compass set to drive,
I see them only sailing by
into the moonless night.
Blacktop's dry so why, why
were they ditched in flight?
Strangely detached, I flee,
hypnotized, sideline tragedy.
Heaps of pain on the periphery,
I push on single-mindedly.
When does strength of character
and resolve become ruthless will?
When the flame behind my eyes
blows out, who is it drives me still?
By my inability to act responsibly,
alleviate calamity, do I then kill?
YOU ARE READING
Express, baggage and all...
PoetryObjects in the mirror are closer than they appear... Just when you think you've put something behind you for good, you look back and find it trails you like your very own comet's tail, lighting a path through the dark. Reading through these pages...
