The Destination

The ribbon of my drive runs on, black asphalt, winding a slow uphill grade.  My truck needs a lower gear.  Eyes peeled for critters running in front of me to their suicide, my gas foot more ready for brakes.

That old red sun makes me want to look down, instead of ahead.

All the while, my soul needs speed, my heart wants to avoid destruction, and hearing the whine of my tires, I feel the pain of wanting, wanting what I can never have.


Those few seconds when I was alive, feeling ok, loving my loveys, hearing the songs of the natural world, no speed, no destruction, just me and all of everything.  Only a few seconds.

Yearning I am, to be part of something.

But, living I am, for destruction.

The world of peace is not a road sign, but a destination.