A Better Sign

 Red eyes—they're blinding

From a distance,

Flooding spots reserved for

Lights of night.

Shining with unease, not for me,

But one day a possibility.

Don't think like that—

I assure you,

Nothing is wrong,

But that's what everyone

Thinks at first.

Cold tires, they drive away—

Not a chance they'd make it,

Not with a silence like that.

Perhaps a chance still floats.

I might just be gloomy,

Thinking the worst,

But the red eyes decline from

Typical parking lot lighting

And the silence settles the dark.

I hope the siren comes to life

When the road is reached.

That would be a better sign.