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Yellowstone at Night

I feel the book on my lap,

but am compelled by the

space between the trees

to look outside instead.

The emptiness is cavernous,

the inside of a dragon, filled

with the places where fire

ought to be. Trees line the

road, just visible in the

circles of the headlights.

What was busy this morning

is now deserted, empty,

barren, transformed to an

eerie landscape in just

the blink of an eye. Two

white lines stretching,

stretching endlessly into

nothingness. It is quiet now,

gone are the sounds of the

tourists, the rangers, the cars.

The silence is almost oppressive,

constantly reminding me that the

world turns without me, dragging

me along. The silence becomes

welcome, inviting my mind to stop,

to pause in its perpetual motion

machine of thoughts.

 

But meters away from me, I

know the geysers still erupt,

no one to watch, but nature

continues, uncaring about

our schedule. The land goes on,

acting as if it is not night, as if it is

not time to sleep. The geysers

explode, throwing water to the

sky, trying to reach the heavens.

The water scorches and kills all

it touches, but life has moved

around it. Now this life

sleeps, but the geysers go on,

not needing light to survive.

This piece won a Silver Key in the Scholastic  Art and Writing Awards 2015-16 for Poetry.
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