On the 4th day of spring every year,
a man, he drives.
He isn’t travelling, nor following the road under hedonism.
He drives to escape,
and every night on the 4th day of spring he leaves his home,
but to escape what or whom?
The dilapidating buildings, the archaic community?
Neither of the aforementioned.
Twas 16 years ago on this night he intertwined his life with his lover’s,
He gave his life to her, devoted himself,
and she took his ring.
The ring he chose so adequately,
The ring he worked under blazing sun for,
The focal goal of his life for 8 months.
If one is obstreperous there is usually a cause,
His wife’s; her instinctively curst demeanor,
Resultant of his absent mind.
He often dreamed, and dreamed and dreamed.
And when awoken, he felt hungry and dazed
In the midst of daylight he adjusted to reality, again
For he could swallow more sleep than the earth’s mass alone.
Is it wrong to dream? Is it a crime?
He never believed such a notion
Though his wife opposed,
The antithesis of his fantasy
The lock on the door
After time his belief was eventually degenerated into an ideology
She murdered his speech at every chance.
Consistency is key in conformity
and her oppression was the sky.
Splayed over him at every corner of his dreams
And omnipresent in his reality
He never slept on the equinox
Though he would try
It’s often difficult to find solace in the cold
But when he couldn’t slip under the compass
to his lucid palace.
He slipped under the radar
And drove, and drove, and drove
On the 24th of March of this year
Was his first failure to sustain incognito
He had ran up the stairs from below
And clashed into a vase on his 16th escapade
His wife awoke for the last time
For the sound was disrupting and quivered in the bounds of the house
She checked the basement
But Tom had fled
And without question she fled after him
His haste was greater
He had left before, and was driving
On the road he found peace
Though a temporary solace,
Every corner he turned was a smiling mouth
And every roundabout, a glaring eye
Though it was the 5th smile off a narrow road he wish he hadn’t encountered
His town was small; the roads always lead back to one another
He turned onto Premonition close
And didn’t slow his speed
For he was in his element
He was scarcely elated
Oblivious to reality
She crossed the road unaware of the headlights,
The roar of the engine
And within a parameter of a second
Upward to the gates,
Though on arrival they were not pearly
He got out of the car, and crouched at the corpse
Though he didn’t see his lover,
he could only see the past.
© Copyright 2016 Glen Bevan. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Poetry
Short Story / Thrillers
Short Story / Fantasy
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