Downhill Run

by Cliff Lake

Driverless and careening,
The miscarriage
Rumbles and creaks without destination,
A headlong rush into the don’t care,
Into the don’t know,
Into an oblivion unseen, unexpected, 
And inevitable.
The miscarriage,
Powered by it’s asses in the traces,
Piled high with packs of empty promise,
Crashing again and again
Into abutments and barriers,
Blockages erected to re-true it’s aim,
It’s occupants screaming to change course,
Yet none with the reins in hand.
The miscarriage,
It’s passengers crazily eager for more speed,
Rushes ever more madly on its downhill run,
Unmindful that its trajectory
Can only end in a sudden

Stop.

The miscarriage,
Constructed of lies and empty ire,
Painted in slogan and artifice,
Reels ever downward,
Its impetus governed by gravity,
And a lack of foresight in its occupants.
From among their collective blindness,
A new driver will be chosen,
To spur them ever onward,
Into inevitable obscurity.

A final justice for this miscarriage…

Cliff Lake 10/5/2023
Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023