Written on the Walls and the Road

How many of my days forever lost sitting in muddled dread... ...that a monster will arrive in my mailbox, yet it never came.
How easily I fell into such a funk.
I let time, weather and neglect take their toll before light returned and I left these furnished rooms to stroll out the door.
I look at faces on the street, but they all seem to be the same.
Oblivious to a growing hunger that even I can not satiate.
The rhythm is there, but sealed and shrink wrapped.
Yet it beckons, piercing like a diamond needle in the ebony vinyl night.
"Rats," I mutter, muffling my rodent-infested rage that simply scurries, nibbling away at scraps as night approaches.
My thoughts wander back to sticky, sweet fields of corn...
...that empire I left behind so many decades ago.
Do I even remember that name?
And can I be transported back to such grace by the most random smile from a stranger on the street?
We can save the daylight a few weeks more until November arrives, but I know what happens as those sparkles command the sky at twilight.

Befuddled diamonds, or are they just glistening glass to cut at our tires?
I try to ground myself in the aqua marine shapes ahead... ...convinced that it is for me they reach.

(Inspired, in part, by the great archives of Reya Mellicker's Gold Poppy)