Member-only story
Silvered Fields, A Poem
I drive on dead lanes of black
old life dragged back to harsh sun
beaten then left to crack
like children.
the harvest moon hangs low
on starlight branches
it’s skin puckered, imperfect
yet beautiful
like grandparents
it calls me to leave myself
cross over from ceaseless thoughts
that rage can never shift
like traffic.
eyes on the road
still she calls out
between our worlds
to look again, escape
take a one way trip
like death
on nights like this
I feel strange
the darkness is bright
and I just run
through silvered fields
forever.
