The Engine


I remember walking to the bus stop as a kid,

My shoes crushing saturated leaves

The roar of the tired engine,

Wheels rounding the corner lazily

Rain dotted the windshield,

The same way fear dotted my mind

Scratches on the side of the bus,


Reflected in me a darker time

Here I am some years later,

Age twenty and out of school

I can still hear it from my window,

The tired engine still roaring through

Rain still dots the windshield,

And fear still dots my mind

The scratches have turned into scars,


And the darkness inside has resigned

I walk to the mailbox today,

Coffee crushing sleep in my eyes

The roar of the tried and true engine,

Still hisses, sputters, and sighs

Rain still dots my windshield,

And resignation dots my heart

Confined to a copy and paste life,

The ignition struggles to start

Here I am in the present,

Unsure of what day it is that I exist

My mind’s transfixed on exhaustion,

As I watch the engine’s smoke rise and twist

Rain still dots the windshield,

And ambiguity still dots my mind,

The scars have turned into scratches,

And the darkness has begun to unwind

Now I lay underground,

Crushed by concrete and grass

The engine today no longer roars:

It only echoes in the past

Rain still dots the windshield,

The same way time lost still dots my soul

Though no longer earthbound,

The rain inside took its toll


Here I am thirty years later,

A memory and nothing more

The dissonant screams of the engine,

Have been forgotten and are no more

Rain used to dot the windshield,

The same way pain used to dot my life

Scratches and scars disintegrated,

No reminder that I once was alive





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