A Way Back Home

I’m average, it is the eye
That tells me where to head, no sound
Nor scent, nor heart, could explain why
I’m keen to get my butt around.

At dark, headlights a little weak
I’d come back on a winding road
Almost a game of hide and seek
A groping home in blindfold mode.

Oncoming loners lead my way
This way no mortal soul save me
The night keeps hedge and holt away
Into their somber destiny

But luckily no inner light
Relumes that halo of remorse
That strips a meager wordly sight
Of its dim rest of driving force.

October 15, 2016