Route 66

By Gub (24th of January)

Life is a box of dirty tricks,

An old red can

So many things have kicked.

Rust on the outside

Bright tin within

It can carry fuel

But the cap leaks.

If we knew the road, 

knew which way

It lay,

The stops would be longer

The rush would cease.

More time to pray.

But our eyes are fixed on the 

Car in front 

Horizons' un risen

Prizes ahead 

Rewards on the side 

Are lay-by's 

Of delay

So many Miradors and 

Vistas unseen,  

Another time we tell ourselves; 

Another place 

Not today

Someone else's

Dream.

That's the case with

'route 66'

A journey that seems infinite 

Is but a short stretch 

Soon the carriageway narrows; 

To a single lane 

The distance ahead 

a fraction of what behind us

Lay...

Smiles, tears 

The laughter; shed,

Either remembered 

Or forever

Unfound

Hills,  valleys,

Snow capped peaks 

Blue sky ;

Clouds

Beaming

Or

Un glimpsed

Become part of eternity's sleep 

The red can's

paint, flakes of rust ..

Life's stains are miasma; 

Vital blemishes 

We now crave; 

Cling to the slightest 

Furrows in dust 

feverish searches for footprints 

in sand 

Seconds  to evidence 

That moment of being; 

Any sign 

We were here 

Shaping light 

and shadow 

The sun, dunes, a vulture rising above the castellations of the  Red Fort 

Another day

 - spared

Knowing 

What we cannot see...

And seeing what we

Could never know ; 

The world in a grain of sand

an eternity lost 

       and found 

In the palm of 

a hand .