Sign in Subscribe
Poetry

The warm light at the end of the blue tunnel turns blue as I walk closer.

Nickie

Nickie

— 1 min read
Share
The warm light at the end of the blue tunnel turns blue as I walk closer.

A poem by Nickie | June 16, 2026

Footsteps fall frantically along the blue carpet of the blue hallway.
Hurried movements racing against the blue clock tick, tick, ticking on the wall.
Check watch, check phone, check calendar. To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be dead.
The blue walls reflect an infinite dusk sky of missed games and date nights. Each a new rung on the broken ladder.
At the end of the tunnel glows a warm, golden light. Bright white walls lined with smiling faces, red velvet curtains, lush garden beds, neon signs mirrored in squinted eyes, sparkling peaks of a rippling lake, rays beaming through a stained glass window.
My steps slow to study
these moments,
to admire each
perfect portrait,
yearning for my turn to
escape into these photos.
But my feet keep moving unable to stop. The light at the end of the tunnel turns blue as I walk closer
to start again

Read more