Literature
Here I Depart
Along this old road, bloom violets
they seem like a funny flower
made of twilight colors. What now?
I stand off the side of the road,
my car has broken down. Alone
in a vast field, a single road
cuts through. I traveled far and long
over winding hills, down valleys,
and through green dells. Across deserts
into canyons, from coast to coast
to forests and flowers. Over
mountains and plains, to rural towns
and sprawling cities. Finally,
it broke, my old car I knew well.
Sure, I could fix it. Make it last
a few hundred or a thousand
miles more. I still have more to see,
more places to go, but should I?
The wind kicks up my hair and sweeps
through the grasses, I just stand there
staring at my car. What now creeps
into my heart? Despair? Sadness?
Pain? No, it is like exhaustion.
I could travel more, but I will
never plant any roots. A ghost
who passes through but is nothing
in truth. Just an observer stuck
on the sidelines without
anyone to know or to hold.
Maybe this is a sign my
