To Survivors

Take a good look at the mechanical motor-racing track :
The circuit where your mind is trapped.

Behind the roar of engines
Sit with distant eyes
See those never-ending laps
With double-bends and tight curves
Speedups and pit stops

With every lap, your pace increases
And frantic words jump in faster every time,
You are doomed to violently
Leave the track,
You’re in a spiral, a closed pipe
Where collision is the only way out.

You are a good driver,
You’ve always gotten by.
When all teams were exhausted,
And all racing cars came off the road
You outmaneuvered everyone.

But today, things are different
The track you’ve sentenced yourself to
Is packed with cars that do not risk shortage supply.
And the thoughts you are negotiating with
Are much smarter than you are : something has changed.

In this asphalt tunnel, you’re heading for disaster,
I have known the craziest of races in inconceivable worlds.
I’m telling you : do not take this one ride.

You’ve gotten in the car, put on the suit, and closed the visor.
Your foot on the clutch, engine ready to roar,
And begging for a good fight.
Don’t believe that a thousand laps will be enough.

When pure hatred is spilled, the strength of your will
Can never truly bail the acid out of the heart’s trenches.
Your cleverness, your thunderbolt wit will never be able
To contain the cars on this starting grid.

From this race, you’ll never come back.
What can you do, then ? And why are you even driving ?
Why have you filled up to the top ? Why would you burn
So much energy, for a challenge you never really wished to take up.

That compassion, burning to try healing yourself and others,
Is a death-bringing mechanism.

Those ruminations you are subjecting yourself to
Will smash you against the wall.
The forces involved are too wild.
Don’t harness your intelligence to them.

This time, there is no solution to bring up,
No air pocket to suddenly break in
No breathing space to drag others to.

This job is not yours
Don’t shoulder it.
Driving sadness in dark and lonely pipes,
Taking impossible bends within narrow minds
Avoiding collision with mad drivers

And finding, somewhere, the surplus of faith
To empty the last drops of others’ rage.

This racing cars will never run out of gasoline,
This race will leave no survivors.
So get out of the car while you still can.

I know other solution than this one.
What I’m doing now, with you :
Take a walk in solitude,
Find the souls you can save

Franck Joseph
©FJ May 2021 – All Rights Reserved
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