The End of this Road

Thoughts trapped in solidarity amongst the forest at the end of dirt roads. Enjoy.

Around that empty bend

where calm waters flow

to seas which yield no river

or halt any being

the end of the road

leading into the end of the night

these corners hold tight onto the coffee-black

while yellow moon fades quietly

behind clouded curtains

of wishful existence


there are only those far away stations

a gleaming newborn infancy so out of reach for us

draining, fading murk

which holds neither the abyss of dark

or any wilting, forgetful days


lying on this defining grey

roads are valleys that never die

white lined pathways

leading fear faced memories

to places I should be

thoughts belong to the lights

and dreaming wants the night

so these unwelcome insights

take solemn sanctuary on these empty,

dirt ridden trails


time even forgets it exists

and the abruptness presents itself

to staring into sagebrush ridgelines

and pine tree mountain tops

losing this wishful red of morning's light

lines all over the world

like infinite veins extending down the arm

deep, elder forests

as far as any eye can see

single, wood fence post across the edge

piecing together fragments

of time, memory & isolation


watching red brown hawk

find its shadow

on the ground beneath my feet

and lead itself to journeys and callings elsewhere

for other beings but me

my shadow, stagnant

with more thought than the body

which it copies

a withering peaceful grotto of metal

at the end of this road

in a world that consumes it all

I'm never going to figure it out

at the beginning of

the end of

the night.

The End

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