The Road

The road stretches out ahead of us,
Twin-laned type-writer ribbon
Untold story of a journey beyond,
Hyphenated paint separates us
As we unspool through
This particular enunciation
Of time and space.

Tap on accelerator pedal elicits

Deep-throated growl
From supercharged Jaguar
G-forces pin us to leather seats,
Temporary ecstasy
On this highway of broken dreams.

Like the Beats
All those years before us,
We take the
Long road south
The journey is what matters,
The destination only a footnote,
The freedom of the open road
Sustenance to parched souls.

Blue sky, infinite horizon,
Not a cloud in sight,
Engine hum and tyre roar
Bring to mind
Cormac McCarthy,
Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty
Road-trips and continents past

Yester-year, and younger days,
A companionship
That's lasted decades.

12 gold stars on blue background
Shine at us
We fly across borders,
Leave Belgium behind
And breathe in the quixotic air
Of liberté, égalité, fraternité.

Tractors toil on wheat fields,

A van-Gogh patchwork 

Of green, brown and olive

High above,

Slow-moving tripods

Slice through still air,

We tilt at our windmills,

Our own private daemons.

The sun, now low in the sky

Shines on yellow and violet,
Fields of exquisite beauty
A kaleidoscope of colour,
Sunflower and lilac.

What does it mean

To be alive 

In the year of our lord 2016?

We are men of science,

We tip our hat 

At the Big Bang,

Hell, we are prepared

To countenance 

A multi-verse 

With infinite storylines

And multiple versions of 

Our own reality.

But sometimes, science fails
To bring succour to troubled minds,
For times like these,
We have The Road,
An infinity ahead

Of tormented souls.