The Dust Settles Poem by Stan Petrovich

Interfering, yet definable
The dust covers my eyes.
I once saw brightly,
But now it seems I am always in the shade,
A shade of miscalculation
And demise.
There is a barren tree
Looking like the skeleton of an ancient horse
In my way;
It is possible simply to go around it,
Or must I fight, a prisoner of the settled dust,
And lose. I cannot bear the crazed embarrassment
Of losing to a dead horse.
Had I a machete, I would certainly win,
And win with aplomb.
You cannot beat what you do not see.
The Quixote of the barren gulch;
The pallid rider of the fiery-frayed & dead horse...