I watch the train recede
The distance swallowing it like an old film
Fading into the next scene
A dream being played out
Yours, or the film makers, you cannot tell
Frame by frame the space before your eyes
Fills with images you would rather not see
The old shed holds the secret
Again, you must win
The small gold chain you wear
Has become a lead weight
You let your mind lead the way
As you lean against the warm wood of the old shed
you refrain from pulling the gold chain from your neck,
as you touch it, you feel protected
Let the game begin…
© Anita Dawes 2021
Leave a Reply