26 and Counting...

Poem, freestyle

26 and Counting



I keep reading the story
Though it stopped making sense long ago.
The words have all bled,
Leaving inky black stains streaked across the page.
And I walk swiftly now
past my ghost’s reflection,
afraid of what I will not see there.
Afraid of what will be missing
if I look.
I keep repeating the answer
although I forgot the question long ago,
and without it
the story stopped making sense.

And suddenly, I am six again,
dreading to look over my shoulder
at the ever deepening sun
calling me in with its burning red glow.
It follows you always, hunts you down to the end.
Shutting my eyes to its hot stare
does nothing to stop the purple push of dusk
and the call to come back home.

With each dreaded sun set,
to feel that which forever follows,
nipping at your bare heels
running hard through the deep green grass
with your short little legs
does not change the fact that you,
Oh you grew old before you had a chance
to know it.
It remains and we all know how this will end,
Swallowed up in death
Like everything we meet.