Akito's Poetry #39

I can’t see the light at the end of the road,
only muddy footprints leading through the old creek tunnel.
I can’t feel the cold that blankets around me,
just the fabric of darkness in the tunnel ahead.
And I’m falling by the wayside,
drifting to shore as the world sails by.
I’m fading in daylight
and I should be sad
but I hear the whispers of the darkness ahead.
Cloverdale. Cloverdale.
The old creek tunnel by the train yard rails.

I lost my voice on a downtown street,
headed north on Cloverdale Road.
And as I yelled, my words
crashed down to my feet,
sputtered and writhed
and fitfully died
into the open grave of my dreams.

And I should be sad,
for I could never find my way in.
Could never integrate myself
into that blur of faces.
And though my heart is tired
and my soul shines dim,
the mind sings clear.
I’m ready to begin.

Cloverdale. Cloverdale.
Cloverdale Tunnel by the train yard rails.
Tracing the footsteps left in the morning rain,
standing aside as the world chugs on by.
I can’t yet see the light at the end of the road,
but there are whispers in the darkness.
There is comfort in its starkness
and I know… I know…
I won’t be alone.
I should be sad as I wait in the old creek tunnel,
but I leave it all behind.

And with a breath and my back
to the grey-blue sky,
I step cross the track,
allowing the world to pass me by.

Then I know… I know…
that I won’t be alone
as I see the light at the end of my road.