The End (15/08/2015)A Poem by Armistead Lindsey this poem is based on a very vivid dream I had We enter the room,
Car running in the center, Fuel tank pierced, Petrol dripping. He sits in the drivers seat, You sit next to him. I find a match, A small piece of wood, And with the first, I light the second, Wood, unlit end first, Pushed under the car. I get in the backseat, I cry, I'm scared. You look back. You nod. Smoke. No flames. No noise. No end. We enter the room, Car running in the center, Fuel take pierced, Petrol dripping. You take my hand, Comforting my cries, I nod. He sits in the drivers seat. You sit in the passengers seat. I light a plank of wood, I place it below the car, I sit in the backseat, I wait and wait. I'm crying and crying, You reach back, You give me your hand, You tell me you're sure, That you'll be there, You'll hold my hand to the end. That you've seen it, The cruelty of the world, That it's enough. We wait. No smoke, no fire. No end. We enter the room, Car running in the center, Fuel tank pierced, Petrol dripping. You hold me close, Lead me to the backseat, I sit, crying and broken. You sit beside me, Warm, comforting, You hold me while the pain Escapes through the silent, Distraught and shattered sobs. He used the wood, To trail, Line, Trace, The petrol his instrument, The final piece of art. He lights the end, He walks to the car, He sits in the drivers seat. You stroke my hair as you watch, Flames dancing in smaller circles, That stop. Too Early. No continuance. No End. We enter the room, Car running in the center, Fuel tank pierced, Petrol dripping. You tell me it's okay. I listen. He takes my hand, He leads me forward, He knows what comes after. You sit in the drivers seat. He and I trail the petrol. One straight line. We light the end. He sits in the backseat. I sit next to him. Calm, collected. You say nothing, You mean nothing, You show, nothing. He holds me in an embrace, Kisses the top of my head, Tightens his grip around me, I know he loves me. You mean nothing in your silence. I look at you, Silently beg for a word, A murmur, a mumble. I ask for your hand. You move. You open the door. I beg you with my tears, You put your leg out. I crumple into him. You leave the car. His grip holds me. I call out your name. He comforts me. You walk away. He wipes every tear. You pause once. I look up. You walk on. He pulls me closer. You leave the room. The fire spreads Engulfs - Consumes. You open the door, You regret. The car explodes. The flames dominate. He guides me on. He knows this place. He tells me he missed me. I grip his hand. This is it. The End. © 2016 Armistead Lindsey |
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Armistead LindseyUnited KingdomAboutI write for personal expression and share with people who, in many ways, I hope never to meet in person. This is not because people are horrible, but because my writing holds something too personal fo.. more..Writing
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