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  • Conclusion


    The black asphalt stares me in the face,
    wet from last night’s endless thunderstorm.
    Looking to find my own reflection,
    but the dirt and grime keeps me hidden.

    A splash from a passing Ford pickup,
    wakes me up from a nightmarish dream.
    My eyes are the solitary light,
    staring back from the pool of dark souls.

    The pang of hunger savagely feeds,
    on my barren stomach without ease.
    Tearing my will to shreds as if it
    were a crumpled note thrown to the floor.

    Bat-like fingernails grab my right hand.
    I follow the owner’s gaze down street
    and smell fresh road kill calling my name.
    Instinct draws me to my heavy feet.

    The creature still barely moving is
    slashed from ear to ear by a colleague.
    Bile reaches the top of my throat
    until I remember I don’t care.

    There are no knives or decadent forks,
    only our hands and malnourished teeth.
    Blood showers as everyone grabs.
    Extremities pass as we break bread.

    I take a hairy, animal leg,
    stripping the skin to get to the meat.
    And there it all flashes before me,
    torn from my family in shackles.

    The uniformed guards had not listened,
    they ripped us all from our very homes.
    The tests that had ensued, memory
    taken like a government forced tax.

    I once had been independent of
    bone grinding militaristic threat,
    but that was before revolution.
    Now a prisoner on my own land.

    I drop the gruesomely, raccoon part
    and begin walking to the westland.
    I don’t even look back to see if
    anyone notices my movements.

    Something has to be done to halt this.
    Flashbacks of my children's small hands on
    my cheeks, warm my frozen heart and bring
    the answer I’ve stowed, until now.

    I lift my legs like a puppeteer,
    to bring me to this place of dreadful
    doom. So I capture it back, the once
    life of freedom stolen from our kids.

    The garage is abandoned except
    for a few ravenous mice who in
    fact remind me of myself after
    the peace-ending, hellish overtake.

    The PVC pipe needs to be cut,
    to the exact measurements or else
    it won’t work the way I want it to.
    Explosion material, touchy.

    When I walk into the rebel quarters,
    The strength that had left “past” me returns,
    I see their chief and press the button,
    then BOOM comes my intermittent death.

    ~Understanding those rarely understood
    Last edited by WriterStephanieHansen; 02-03-2015, 07:03 PM.

  • #2
    Thought-provoking, Stephanie! What was your inspiration?