two-lane road, image by Joshua Choate on Pixabay, modified
Death Deferred
The narrow, two-lane rural road cut through
A shadowed forest, dense and dusky green,
Where walls of pine emerged and passed from view
As ghostly pre-dawn blurs, more sensed than seen.
The headlights of approaching cars were bright,
And since the highway stretched out ramrod straight
I kept my eyes skewed slightly to the right,
To safely see ahead and navigate.
But when the road swung sharply to the east
The rising sun shone straight into my face.
And in that glare, as road and world ceased,
I felt the chill approach of Death’s embrace.
Then, like the trees, the moment passed me by
And Death, deferred, released me with a sigh.
James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor who has lived and served in California,
Utah, Scotland, Australia, Hawaii, and presently in Long Beach, Washington.
He has published six novels, four collections of poetry, and one collection of
short stories with Dunecrest Press. His stories and poetry have appeared in
regional, national and international anthologies both online and in print. His
poetry has been honored with First Place in the 2021 Society of Classical Poets
Poetry Competition, the Laureate’s Choice Award in the 2021 Maria W. Faust
Sonnet Contest, Winner in the 2022 100 Days of Dante Poetry Contest, and
the recipient of the quarterly prize for Best Poem from The Lyric.
(December 2023 issue)
I like the trees as "pre-dawn blurs, more sensed than seen." And thank God for protecting him.