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by Mary Jane Jun 7, 2006 category : Life, society / other
Walking down Main Street. I take a left to met Fear. I stumble on the pavement. To fall and hurt my splintered soul. Standing I spin, round,and round. To become a rotting figure in a cyclone. Where's the eight-point stop? How do I get off this trip? Everything swirls and rises. A jerking moment and then the ride ends. A voice on the speaker says, "This dream is over.It's time to begin again." I struggle to break free. All these hands are on me. The Shaman prays over this disaster. I break free, run away into the sun. To come upon a highway. Leading to the mouth of the snake. Like shattered glass the sun plays. I walk along the desert in Chaos's daze. A mirage, floating on the highway. The king of this American dream. With his hand reaching toward me. I see the bloodied carved number. Twenty-Seven? Is this were we end. In the desert of life. With a king bleeding form the wound in his head. Tell me, my ancient ones. The day began as most days do. With a lie of peace. But in the end, I see the bodies, strewn across this highway. This is the end. The Highway of Death. With a black clad King. Reaching for me.
by Michelle
Cool poem