Derailed

The light at the end of the tunnel seems faded
almost as if it’s travelling in the wrong direction,
or maybe it’s me who’s off my path?

Outside my door the wind blows, like a tempest,
and with my mind not connected to my feet
I’m driving autopilot through the world.

I wish I could get off the track,
and try to find the beating of my heart
beneath this ache that fills the emptiness in my chest,

But it’s hard to lay my head down
when the hell I’m trying to avoid
is living in the silence right here at home.  


august 2005
©Janet Reid



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