Roaming Greyhound Reflections

Sitting in a state of azure reflection 

on a Greyhound bus 

full of so many

strange,

unfamiliar,

worn,

faces. 

The road  

drags on endlessly into the quiet night

bleeding into another gentle morning. 

Machinery groans,

overworked moving parts hiss as they obey the command of a halt,

and gasoline is fed into the beast.

On the road we return once more.

On the road our caravan of sinners, saints, and angels tread forth.

Destination unknown, ever changing, 

SOUL BOUND. 

Every new day a rebirth,

every other night a murder,

sense of self, a wrinkled skin

that slowly peels like faded paint chips

from a restless canvas. 

Refinery fires burn brightly, breaking the blanket of twilight,

guiding our ship safely from 

the yellow eyed 

creatures who hide

tucked away 

in the tall grass. 

Children dream of their next meal and a field to play,

mothers and fathers dream of distant memories of passionate youth,

and the bright sun shakes the haze for the time being.