Lost Chance

By Cliff Lake

 

Lost Chance

 

The music is wrong.

It sears.

It rends.

This is a broken place.

It has found you.

Visions come in slices translucent –

Scenes distorted by their own will.

Mirages repeated a thousand times,

Reflected in eyes that pierce the mind,

Leaving behind sights of a you

That has never been,

And will always be.

The air smells of unwritten books burning,

Filled with incantations profane,

Seeping into the skin unsaid,

And fully realized.

This is a broken place.

A seething existence fouled with expectancy,

An unwelcoming prepared of ash and intent,

Made possible by sins imagined,

By deeds undone,

By preoccupation with the petty,

By resolutions unfilled.

This is the land of broken promise,

Smoky and acidic,

Cold and smoldering,

A maze created in forgetfulness,

A purgatory for the good-intentioned,

For the occasionally steadfast.

This is a broken place.

You intend to get out,

But that will always be the past,

Because it will always be too late.

Welcome home.

 

Cliff Lake 6/27/2023

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

Location: Dalton, MA, USA

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