adventures in dysthymia

Thursday, July 19, 2018

Roads, a poem

Roads

All the night I’ve driven, passed each ramp,
each with its whispered promise gone
among the headlights. Though I yearned to sleep,
I yearned more to find the dawn.
Count the markers to your destination —
unknown, it lies on maps not drawn.
Roads must end, whatever Tolkien said;
I can not go forever on.

Stephen Brooke ©2018

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