Poetic Much? 1/10/22

Rest Area Closed

By C. Derick Miller

http://cderickmiller.com

Windshield plays the movie

Stretching sand its only feature

Burning asphalt resting place

To soul of man and creature.

Death is present everywhere

Wilted trees have often spoken

No one rarely makes it through

Alive, but burned and broken.

The mountain range is calling me

Clenched fist, I make my choice

A sacrifice to rock and sun

Loud scream but silent voice.

The path blazed now for decades

Ghostly footprints lead the way

Statistics stack against me

Outstretched hand demanding pay.

Wind cuts through my childhood

 Sunlight has baked my dreams

I’ve headed off to Hollywood

Where no one’s what they seem.

Gutters filled with shattered life

That’s cleansed on rare occasion

The arid breath of Tinseltown

Invoking suffocation.

A kiss and favors, something more?

What is it that they need?

Turned key in darkened dungeon

Because no one rides for free.

The skeletons fill dressing rooms

Nightmares bring on the feast

There’s no amount of make-up

Thick enough to hide the beast.

The magic wands and mirrors

Hide the strings of guest and host

Although no one has spotted them

They’ve been removed in post.

Just like the man that I once knew

Just like my former life

One final breath to curse this place

My wrist accepts the knife.

Struck down like pins on Sunset

The collectors take their due

Drink blood of fallen masses

Just to entertain the few.

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