Black Prism Road by Harry Baker
The veracity of life Fought its way down the tunnel On the side path nestled tightly between The crooked walls and passenger doors. The left side of me, clipped and nicked By small motions; The close calls where velocity Overlooked life's splendor. The ever so slightly winding road Can only go so far. Cracks in the tunnel walls let me Escape from gravity winds. From the vantage point, All that I saw were colors, Vibrant auras that seemed to paint Life itself. The solid dye bled through the walls, Peeling away as soon as it lay itself upon the brick. Within the ink, darkness ensued, Strangling the pigments With foppish lies. Amongst the road there was no friction, Rubber met ice that trickled from beneath The wicked canvas walls. It fell off its easel, Shattering into half of what it was. The winding road rode crooked no more, Turning into a straight path, Showing a comforting prism Unkempt from the black grime That smothered reality. The gauge has set itself to cruise control On a road That can't be painted Or known at all. 93