The Miles

This is an older poem I wrote once when I was free of all commitments and living in my truck on the open road... full of sadness and loneliness and happiness, with no where to go but to whatever next stop was on the horizon.

I feed my gypsy soul with miles -
Long stretches of them,
Roads that follow the curves of mountains,
And roads that divide the desert,
Lonely sad and straight.

Yet they are all lonely -
Lonely roads of cobblestone in sleepy downtowns,
Lonely roads whose shoulders dance with uncounted yellow taxis,
Lonely roads that know the deer’s sorrow,
Who know the vulture’s joy.

These miles come new to me everyday,
Days that have no past,
Roads marked only, One Way.

Do tears at night match the wasted fuel of the day?
Am I missing everything that I see flying by?

The answer is only, Move On.

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