Expelled from darkness into light,
unexpected, uncertain, learning to move
to absorb, to grow, to move and learn,
stretching, crawling, stumbling to walk
into the light, walking, walking,
both night and day, sun and rain,
cloud and clear, seasons pass,
storm clouds grow, storm clouds pass,
past now beckons, future unclear,
steady holding, seeking light,
jogging up, jogging back,
finding this, losing that,
day by day, night after night,
time stalling out, time slipping by,
phases come, phases go,
speed picks up, speed controls,
clouds form in the distance,
clouds both thick and dark
long night in view, nowhere to go,
turning calm into hustle, hustle into speed,
running hard now toward darkening night,
running fast into impenetrable, fading light.
Slow at first, barely catching
traction on slippery rails,
spinning in one spot until
at last, slight movement
forward, gradual build up,
edging on, inching progress,
momentum shifting, speed
accumulating, not yet fast
but building, driving,
straight ahead, then a curve,
more curves, finding an
open path, pumping now,
scenery passing, destination
still far ahead, not yet seen –
imagined, felt, moving past
expected, unexpected
impediments, blockages,
but up to full speed then,
barely in control, acceleration faster,
faster, station end imagined,
visualized, brakes needed – but
none there, ultimate speed now
no slowing down, no turning back,
runaway train, downhill racing,
no escape ramp, nothing behind
to pull back and stop, churning,
nearly flying, no escape, no way
out, no way to stop as it hits
maximum speed, rushing fully
blast into the dark wall of oblivion.
Once running at full tilt,
with full tank, roaring
forward, moving out ahead
passing slow movers, dodging
hurdles, shooting past all,
foot on gas, driving hard into the sun.
But one day, tank emptying, power dropping,
forced from fast lane into slower,
and slower again, downshifting,
looking for some old strength,
some way back to top speed,
to be in front once more.
Tank now nearly empty,
little strength or drive remains,
only echoes of the past, memories,
recollections, knowing there’s
only so much left when you’re
running on fumes alone. 
J. B. Hogan is a poet, fiction writer, and local historian. He has been published in a number of journals including the Blue Lake Review, Crack the Spine, Copperfield Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Well Read Magazine, and Aphelion. His twelve books include Bar Harbor, Mexican Skies, Living Behind Time, Losing Cotton, The Apostate and, most recently, Forgotten Fayetteville and Washington County (local history). He lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas.
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