This Ride Won't Stop Turning

I wonder, each sundown,

If when all stills at night,

When the chores are complete,

When my fears have took flight,

If a time ever comes when

My mind is less mired,

If my thoughts will stretch out,

But no, I’m too tired,

And I drift into sleep

With worries still massing

Like cumulonimbus,

Their tendrils harassing

The edge of my dreams, so

When an angel appears,

Her wing tips are red barbed,

Her face tracked with tears.

I turn from her, frightened,

And in every direction

The flat ground is flooded,

So I see my reflection,

And the angel is there,

It is my face I see,

My tear tracks are tightening,

My barbs cutting me.

And I tell her she promised,

She wanted much more,

And I answer, how can I?

My back is so sore?

I plead with her, maybe,

If I had time to think,

If the ride would stop turning,

If I stepped off this rink,

From out of the chaos,

My truth would arise,

My beauty would surface

A golden sunrise.

“Then this is your moment

To shine” whispered she,

And baring her teeth,

Held a gun to my knee.