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Darkness on the Edge of Town

Atop the hill, the seed was sowed.

By Ryder PittzPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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it's existed since

father time tipped the hourglass—

setting in motion the

golden sands-

hanging, fluttering like a veil,

prison walls closing in

upon the darkness on the edge of town.

The township expands

in all directions, stopping

at the Bastillian border.

I have walked all dead-end streets,

unable to press further on,

unable to pull himself away.

As a young boy,

there existed a hill

on 3rd and Maple.

standing atop the mound,

the vista beyond his wall

seemed attainable,

if only I could climb higher.

So, I planted a tree,

acquiring the seed from

the old man across the way.

My palms outstretched, the seed fell-

the man's hands brushed against mine,

like sandpaper,

with bandages taped over varicose veins.

He smelled near death:

greasy and of argyle sweaters.

the man's eyes followed me

as I rushed off the rotting porch,

though the eyes were kind,

they brimmed with loneliness

and half-crazed dementia.

He watched me run,

muttering as he turned back inside,

"cut it loose or let it drag

you down."

Atop the hill, the seed was sowed.

when I was sure of no listeners,

I whispered to the tree

stories of what we would see

together,

of what was beyond the veil.

The tree grew gnarled and bent,

decrepit houses and neighborhoods

replaced with breathtakingly tall buildings.

Delighted, I scrambled up

circular staircases and

well-placed scaffolding.

Perched above the sky,

my illusion of what was beyond

shattered.

The veil extended into the clouds,

inducing the rain.

Wipers flash to and fro below,

cars stuck in traffic,

slowly disappearing into the shroud

that encloses my solitary confinement.

I slog home,

shoulders slumped with the

weight of the world.

sad poetry
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About the Creator

Ryder Pittz

Poet, Traveler, Student

Constantly awed by the power of Humanity

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