Suppressing The Moments The Mind Chose To Chase. Poem by Dan Reynolds

Suppressing the moments the mind chose to chase.

Sometimes, pictures, quickly conjured up
cannot convey the horror they inspire.
When later on, they fester or ferment
into a hybrid marathon of melancholy.
A host or hoard of hopelessness, in a less than silent film.
A film we choose to let run and run
despite the images we envisage.
The dread we are bottom-dealing to our own
Insatiable, ghoulish glee.
Until we reach the snap, the crack,
the point too far to bear.

A former Traffic Policeman told a story to me today
of how the floors of horse trailers should be regularly checked.
He left me with nightmares of feet on the freeway
as the driver drove onwards, obliviously.