in the time of dreams

thoughts from an auto graveyard.

each car is a story;
every story starts with a dream

like children,
born of passions lost to the moment

how came they each to be here?
each came by a different set of roads, we know –

for there was a someone
or someone(s)
for whom, on a certain day,
the purchase of this specific car
was the whole of their concerns

and it was new
and choice was new, and paramount –

all delivered back
in the time of dreams
before the years pummeled these vehicles
into what we see now

ore mined one place
parts manufactured somewhere else

car built
shipped
sold

gas pumped in stations in
who knows how many towns

what conversations took place in this car
what journeys were undertaken

is this place a reminder of human vanity
or
a testament of human strength in frailty?

cars are just things,
but
things are
kind of important —

the wind is blowing harder now
and i’m looking as though
i fit right in here

back in the time

of dreams

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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