Beyond the end of the road

A long road goes dead

Fluorescent white lines fade into the abominable tarmac

A beating stops.

 

There is a quiet wailing as though a person is screaming underwater

A pain

Sharp and poignant

Like the frequency of that noise would be

If someone measured it -

But they won’t.

 

Ambiguity:

Bleak and terrible

As though nothing can be contained in a memory

Hands snatch at the air until the darkness overwhelms

And as limbs cannot be seen

Limbs are lost.

 

The moaning continues

Low and long, rolling out in gusts

It comes from you.

 

You who has lost contact with your hands

You who cannot translate your own language.

 

Walls descend

A half-awareness threatens your sensibilities

Walls rise

The overriding blackness begins to shine

Dots of light

And then corner kisses corner

 

You cocoon yourself about this pain

It becomes you

The sound is all you have left to preserve

 

A feeling that your identity has been - not stolen –

 But lost, worries you

Lost things are not usually found.

 

Time

Four letters

Quite meaningless

Simply felt like saying them together

 

You once thought to remember

But now you think to forget

The more you scratch into the walls

The darker they colour

 

Something pushes into the room; cold and clammy

You know it is a thought

Because you used to be able to classify them

And yet you can see it in front of you

 

How strange!

To see a thought in the air

 

It spins

You feel it spin

As the air moves across your-

 

Well, not your face

You do not seem to be in possession of such a thing

In fact, the more you think about it, the less certain you are you know what one is.

 

Either way, you can tell some air has been displaced

For the sound wobbled once before continuing its perpetual hum

 

There is a wriggle that disrupts everything

Something is almost revealed

But withheld.

 

It is so dark and the noise is so loud

You wish you could make it stop

But you’ve forgotten how to talk

You cannot remember what that means

 

An idea to grasp at something comes to you

But you find yourself dumb, defenceless.

The noise becomes louder

A physical squeezing.


Spaces comes

Emptiness with it

The sound has stopped

A failing of comprehension perhaps.

 

Although there was no light, it grows darker

How can that be!

The comparative overwhelms the superlative

 

A complete detachment

You become a word

Which cannot last as there is no hand to pen the letters

Nor eyes to read them

Lips cannot form them

Ears cannot hear them

 

It should be terrifying

A nervous butterfly floats before you

Evoking giddy remembrances of anticipation

You have reached your destination

Another memory flaps

Oh but if you could collect them all!

 

Butterflies spill into the air

They come from you

Orange; gold; turquoise.

 

You remember everything

Each step down the road that brought you here

And it feels - oh it feels – it feels wonderful.

© 2020 by AMBER SIDNEY-WOOLLETT