Runaway

Shadows fall
The evening grows long
A cigarett burns, the setting sun
Face to the wind
Nowhere, no how
Fingers tap-tap, it’s all been done
And said, and thought
A moment too late
Chasing the night, a loaded gun
A desolate town
A make-shift crown
Softly, swiftly, watch me run

Post for Saturday: February 23, 2013

The Mechanic

Ten hours to fix my car
He didn’t seem to mind
Lying there on a cardboard box
Flattened so the road wouldn’t hurt his back
His hands caked with grease
And motor oil
Swearing occasionally
Pissed off when his hand slipped
Or he dropped a bolt
Certainly he was aggravated
I’m sure he lost more hair that day
But he did it
I watched from the window
Wondering why he attacked it
So earnestly
I wasn’t going to pay him
He knew that
But he did it
Stopping every now and again
To smoke a Doral
Sighing deeply when his break was finished
Yet going back each time
Hoping
I’m sure
To be done with the job
At last
Ten hours to fix my car
Doing it only to hear:
Thanks Dad,
thanks for fixing my car.

The Death of Poe

I.
The day turns slowly into night
Leaving not any trace of light
Having no will left even to fight
This feeling of fear isn’t quite right

II.
Shivering in the closing fog
Eerie sounds echo a song
Forcing myself to walk along
Something not right, really quite wrong

III.
The darkness seeps into my head
I realize it’s only my thoughts I read
And that I did all the things I said
Darkness covers when I am dead