Down This Road Before
I've been down this road before
I've seen all the same sights;
it's a cycle I can never escape.
Or learn from for that matter
for I am here
Yet again.
Again and again and again
I travel down the broken
road
and, as always, I fall
when I trip on the cracks.
I stumble on the unlevel
ground
skin my knees on the rocks and pebbles
and shred my hands on sand.
I trudge along
down the road
again.
Is there a place to make a pitstop?
Not for many miles, the
dilapidated sign informs me.
It swings on a single
screw
jilted on its side
and from where I stand, slouching
it appears up-side-down.
The sign and I, we are siblings;
kindred in lackluster appearance.
Different only in that
while the sign bleeds rust
I bleed true blood.
I mourn the sign as I continue
yet I know I'll be back.
For I've been down this road before.
As I continue on
the wind blows dust across my view.
It coats my lungs with its
tiny particles,
scratching holes along the inside of my
cheeks and on my tongue.
It kicks and swirls and bites
stinging my eyes and forming
a curtain to block my sight.
With the sand stinging, I am
forced to close my eyes
and grope
blindly, in darkness
for a different road.
Do I veer left
or turn right?
It would aid my decision if I could see.
For all I know, I may be traveling
around and around and around.
Around I come, yet again
down the same road.
As I round the bend
my kindred sign greets me,
swinging on its single screw
it welcomes me back and serves
to remind
that there are no pitstops
for many miles.
Copyright © Anna Makoujy | Year Posted 2006
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