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Novelo Rectangle

Faint glow blooms, a tiny sun, A warning whispered, "Come undone." Beneath the glass, the amber hue Begins a tale I never knew. My car, my steed, my faithful guide, now harbors something dark inside.A light, a symbol, vague and stern, A message cryptic, hard to learn. The check engine light — a beacon bright Ignites the dread of every night. What secrets stir beneath the hood? What silent ailment saps the good?I pull aside, heart thumping fast, my fingers trembling as they clasp The steering wheel, my breath a storm, While fear takes shape, a shifting form. I scroll through thoughts like warning codes, A thousand possible forebodes.A cracked gas cap? A loose wire? Or the whole engine set on fire? I stare into the glowing eye and feel my spirit start to die. For every mile I had driven free Now hangs in fragile mystery.The asphalt hums, a passive snake, my pulse in rhythm with the ache Of knowing something might be wrong — Yet not knowing what all along. I pop the hood, the latch resists, A hiss of heat, a swirling mist.The engine sighs, a metal heart, Its tangled veins a work of art. I squint to see, but all looks well — No molten core, no sulfur smell. Just gears and belts, just nuts and bolts, No glaring wounds, no lightning jolts.I wipe my brow and close the lid, Unsure of what my senses did. The light persists, a ghostly flare, A constant weight, a pressing prayer. I climb back in, the silence thick, the air is heavy, oil-slick.I drive — because what else to do? The miles stretch long, the night turns blue. The city fades, the stars descend, Each one a worry without end. The engine hums, a loyal beast, yet every purr feels like a feast Of final breaths, of last goodbyes, A funeral dirge beneath the skies.I wonder, then, what cars might feel When sickness comes when tires peel. Do they, like us, grow old and frail? Do pistons mourn when engines fail? Or are they silent, ever-still, Machines with nothing left to kill?I name my car — a foolish rite — To soften all this mortal fright. I call her Lena&nbsp;, a name that fits The way she moves, the way she sits. Through every storm, through every turn, She carried me, too proud to burn.And now she glows, her body aches, Her circuits hum like restless lakes. I promise her, as dawn unfurls, I’ll fix her heart, I’ll check the whirls of gears and cogs, of every part That makes her whole, that starts her heart.I pull into a dim-lit bay as sunrise melts the night away. A mechanic, weary-eyed but kind, Peers into Lena, begins to find The source of all our shared distress, A faulty sensor — nothing less.I laugh, I cry, the weight unbinds, the storm recedes within my mind. Grace hums again, her dashboard clear, Her spirit vibrant, free of fear. I pay the fee, I start the drive, Relieved to know we both survive.And yet, that light, that glowing spark, A fleeting glimpse into the dark — It stays with me, a lesson learned, A symbol of the roads I have turned. For every journey, every plight, Begins and ends with some small light.&nbsp;

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Novelo Square

The First Drop

The Cloud’s Embrace 

The Dance Of The Storm

Beneath The Clouds

Life Of The Rain

Reflections

The Cloud’s Song

The Moment’s Pause 

The Promise Of Sun

The Silent Aftermath 

The Everlasting Rain

The Final Drop

Night Things Went Left

It Must Be Me

My Check Engine Light Came On

You Should Wash Your Ass

My Cat And Dog

A Pimp Named Slickback & the Queen of Pain

The Epic of Skeetameetameeta

Peacock’s Curse

Frostbitten Folly

Shake the Devil Off the Man on the Toilet  

White Owl Dreams

The Grand Finale (Or Is It?)

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Poetry Disaster  

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Poetry Disaster

Bigbankblack87

Leon Peacock

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Leon Peacock

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