A million turns of the wheel.
I’m still stuck in a devil’s deal.
Running these roads in the deep of night.
Two ellipses lend my only light.
What monsters lurk within that dark?
Beasts cut from the manifest of Noah’s Ark,
but who tread the waters through the flood.
Too mean to die, tougher than mud.
If I should slow before the dawn,
They’ll give this job to the next poor pawn.
By B Gourley in poem, Poetry on December 2, 2016.
