Monday, October 1, 2007

Wishing Coin

Driven by whispers,
Into the darkness,
Onto the highway,
Where our ego rests.
Snakes slither by,
We little heed.
Blinded by the speed.
Clambering nomads,
We find hard to breathe.
Ruthless wind,
Blows past our breed.
And then the melancholy
Cry of the night!
Cut short by ours,
Less than a minute.
Our eyes now wide,
The glass shattered
By resonance!
That face, that plight
Would haunt us,
For vengeance.

A reindeer crossing the highway,
Poor helpless thing has crossed over to Death’s sway.
Blood on the metal, blood on the windshield.
Blood everywhere….everywhere but the highway…
And the wheels.

The reindeer, was it flying to us from some Pole?
What was it bringing us?
Had we not bereaved its body of its soul?

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