Prose Poetry
Night Was His Destination, with Twilight Upon Him
Scrittura 2nd Saturday Prompt: word image
Our world slips by in fleeting flurry outside the window, this train gently swaying on predestined tracks, sweeping me along fiery horizons cooling into dusk as streetlights blink on, whizzing past the eye into nothingness — out-of-sight, out-of-mind,
the shimmers passing by in a drizzle at first, increasing into a steady stream, which is mirrored upon my teacup’s surface, streaking across tired eyes passively observing my observing of the passing — the cup, the lights, the horizon, simmering, shimmering unhurriedly into nothing,
with pinpoints of light appearing one by one high in sky, keeping pace, in a way — going my way, celestial constants among ever-changing terrain below, as even our sky gently turns towards lilac, then blue, then indigo, then shadow — and given our struggles staying on track in light of day,
I think I should prefer becoming one with shadow eventually — and not just by selfishly switching it all off, severing my thread from primordial tapestry, bestowing tattered, ghastly gash upon grieving inheritors
– for exiting this realm by cruder means than this gliding train — leaving behind feelings, footsteps, fingerprints —…
