Thirty Miles

Standard

No matter what you want
Where to go
Where to rest
It’s thirty miles
That never ends.
 
The fog lays across
Even the brightest day
Obscuring the sights
All one, in the end,
All one.
Thirty miles still to go
Thirty miles
 
So why not stay where the tension lies?
The shouting barked at your back
Not respected nor needs met
With distressing sharp looks
With no one listening
With only loud, loud, loud
 
Yet you laugh
She laughs
At what is wrought;
Shake your head at some distant thought
The cut off point has come and gone
Thirty miles shouldn’t take so long.
 
Thirty miles to drive you on
Another thirty after that
Driven on, driven on
Thirty miles of fog
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13 responses »

  1. This is what I love about poetry. To some extent, the reader is allowed his/her own private world brought on by the poet/writer. Thanks Stuart. Another thirty miles, thirty seconds, thirty years or lifetimes. We go on for as long as we choose to go on….(or until gas runs out and we choose not to refuel) 🙂

    Like

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