The Brakes (HS 123)

Near seven decades of run on, sentenced to a worn and hazy neatly
there you go, so you’ve slowed, you slowly, give up to the end
of indecision always anyway, come to a creeping standstill,
your appointed hour quavers at stasis, the surrendering admit
yourself to the final mystery of what you wanted and where
you would find it, spilled sleepy eyed, rolling on like molten lead,
how a goal might never be, you freezing up, solely in the icing pleasure
of your company, this black and white snapshot, so stark grand dream,
all along the streets subsumed in shadow, shrouded in a light post’s
flickering beam, a spotted spider, lost legged, you pausing for a ticket
time stamp, time to stop skittering the web, veins pulse
your station, stop blood on the tracks just up ahead.
I think right now you must move, awake, you must awake,
release your vision, before the sure dark’s groan of too little too late.

* * * * *

Today’s word is

decades

Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece as a comment below. I would love to read it : )

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