December 7, 2007
By Johanna Teague, Geneseo, IL

The eve of twilight ascended,
my breath came, now gone
as my soles pounded upon the way.
The whispers of the cornstalks
call someone else’s name.
Murmurs drown amongst thousands
of pieces in the heavens above.
The closing thrum of a bass,
dragged me into useless reality
as the brilliant headlights
flash across my flushed face.
I could hear it still
while it ate the miles of road.
A heart beat, the thud and pound,
haunting me, knowing how alive I am.
The wind no longer restrained me,
but I knew its direction.
Liquid memory on the fringes
wading through the tide of city.
My footsteps become the silence
I long for.
Until a streetlamp pushed me
onto the stage without a line to say
Even under the audience of the moon,
He sees a distorted facade
of who I am.
Hands of inky shadows reach me
The dark is not always the worst place to be.

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