The Back Roads
between here and there
a road winds through the trees
houses now line the sacred hunting grounds of yesteryear
all that is left are bones and frozen souls,
beneath the seethe of suburban mores
where once was a rolling hillside
a fenced-in prison of self-indulgence
stands atop like a loutish sculpture:
an ode to all that has gone wrong
this though is still my favorite road to drive on
turn right by the course and downshift
hear the rift of the road below
the pioneers romping through mud
chants and screams hovering about
first curve is dark even in the light-of-day
a small bridge adorned with train tracks
tunnel begins
tunnel ends
one more curve elicits the feeling of flying;
sunlight filters through the trees
we are now moving too quickly
momentum carries us onward
it carries us aloft
into the soft muted sound of peace
this road reminds me that I am moving;
that We are all moving
farther and farther away from what is behind us
perhaps all we were is buried below the ground
perhaps if we just stay, slow down and listened to this sound
we could live each day without running away
can you hear it?
breathe…breathe…breathe...
let go of what appears to be there
for centuries down this same old thoroughfare
they won't even know you were here