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I find myself,
on parallel lines,
that merge at the horizon.
This enigmatic paradox,
changes the shadows,
that strive to ruin and deny.
Constricted views,
force me to turn away,
like a cowardly drunk,
avoiding spousal disapproval.
The armies of disarray corrupt;
a profound cry stolen from loneliness,
pervades the silent slaughter.
Angst driven fear,
fills the air with gossamer thoughts,
and ice filled tears.
Courage,
carried on the winds of denial,
buoyed by the heat of desire,
force the re-alignment,
of wheels shattered by sin.
Banshee screams,
greet the rebirth of lines,
no longer straight,
but twisted like the limbs of an ancient oak;
their gnarled existence,
no longer a barrier,
no more a fearsome statute,
but merely a description;
a simplistic road map.
The horizon diminishes now,
as I move slowly towards it,
like a petulant child seeking a treat,
to succor the desire for peace.
And so once again,
I place myself on tracks waiting to be derailed….
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