Finish Line. A poem.

Down again, in November showers
that wash the sin from my crown.
Out walking my black dog in the rain,
skirting hills and wither deep.

Just another day in here,

Under my skin
Under the hood

Where the engine strains and groans
as it drags my weary chassis
to the finish line.
Where I’m content to lose again,
to choose again.

And choose life this time.
Even with its witless overtures
and empty virtue,
it holds the one thing
that burns like fire
and wakes me from my bitter sleep.

14 thoughts on “Finish Line. A poem.

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  1. I really love your poems. I understand that feeling of just trying to get there, having no idea how to get there, but just having to find the strength and conditioning to move on and leave the past where it belongs. Hope that makes sense 😉

    Liked by 1 person

      1. You’re welcome! Thank you for reading mine as well:) I know that the past should stay where it belongs, but sometimes I give in and get caught up, but I’m learning more everyday how to make it back into the present, and looking forward to the future. 😊

        Liked by 1 person

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