Musings #327

I've crept along these narrow roads in the dark.
I've woven through them, too.
Nights of silent musing turned to racing ghosts.
Nights of reckless boozing worn like cheap cologne.

I've been chased along these roads like a mark.
I've drifted through them, too.
Days of screaming thoughtlessness turned to patient prose.
Days of sobriety discarded, and outgrown.

These two lane roads are home.
No speed limits. No yellow signs. No you.
Just white lines illuminated under spiteful constellations.
Gravel patches and blind corners spun like familiar fables.

Poetry by Phill
Read 110 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2022-06-01 at 04:55

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Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
Your poem has been chosen to be featured on the home page of PoetBay. Thank you for posting on our poetry website!

Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
Bravo, sir!

arquious The PoetBay support member heart!
Another 38 musings and you will have one for every day for a whole year; 39 and that would cover the next leap year day. When the absence of a person makes the travel home life becomes a varied scene as long as we keep moving. Thanks for sharing. /Rik.