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The Instinctive Trek Northward


Weak electric sparks fire within
Depressingly mute, color of nothing,
More shadow than light

Life has been dipped in engine grease,
A thick, overcast December night
Spots of light sneak in quietly,
Only nothing but delusions of longing

Scream to hear the echoes of pain
Weep to feel the sick heat of rejection
Sleep to be the shining prince she’ll need
Yet the sparks grow dimmer, dimmer

The snow falls harder, harder
The wind dances faster, faster
And the gears turn slower, slower
Sparks sputtering mournfully

And yet the road eats farther into the horizon,
Chortling and taunting
Knowing the wheels will surely stick
If not in sticky white slush, the muck of the future melt
Yet the sparks keep sputtering
Keep dimly firing
Somehow igniting the vapors