Someone seen before,
Your dark hair entrancing in the pleasant summer breeze,
In this place that seems both old and new.

Come a thousand miles,
To end up spellbound by your natural grace,
A look about you that invited natural curiosity,
With gentle eyes and kind words,
Quite literally causing me to stop in my tracks.

Kind words in a playful tone,
Heart a flutter,
Scaring the **** out of me in the process,
Not because you're trying to be hard to get,
But simply because you're so very hard to forget.

In my late night musings I'll imagine chasing after,
But that is after my painful trip back to the Midwest,
Leaving behind the town of tunnels and tea parties.

Thoughts turn inward,
As space between me and that haunting place is increased,
As a gentle rain begins to decend upon Seneca land.

Perhaps whatever messages I might have glimpsed of are all imaginary,
Or mayhaps you feel the same?
A corner to the great puzzle I didn't even know I missed.

At that great imaginary horizon of mine I can see just the tip of the obelisk to the east,
Silhouetted by the rising sun,
Standing as a marker for where I wish to be.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Trying to race to the western promises.

Passing into lands previously untravelled,
Towards the glow emenating from those golden opportunities,
Almost as if taking flight towards the stark blue horizon.

Not long to go,
Just a push and a plunge,
A great fall to the left on the map.

In search of a better future,
As great plains are traversed,
The beacon of answers to great questions lay ahead.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Trying to outrace the eastern storm.

Lessons in the trunk,
A case of tenacity in the passenger seat,
Goals hogging the back seat.

The wind tussling hair as it passes,
A gentle greeting as the countryside opens up,
The air clearer with every mile.

Everything seeming sharper,
Like a previously unknown haze being pulled from the eyes,
Colors vibrant and new.

Skimming down the road,
Fingers embraced by the passing wind,
Chasing the setting sun and running from the night.

Soaring high above the tops of the clouds,
Towards a destination few dates to go,
A return if sorts to a life that would be both old and new.

The moon reflects across the ice crystals below,
Giving it an etherial glow,
Their tops shorn flat by the wind,
Giving the appearance of a calm lake in the summer,
Like glass from another realm.

A decision was made,
A war still raging inside the heart,
As new obstacles are thrown up.

Willingly leaving family behind to throw one's self into danger,
To put service before self once again.

That great apex has been reached,
And one can feel the descent,
To skip upon that lake top,
Gradually sinking through like the proverbial stone,
To arrive at the next leg of the trip.

Riding alone along that famous desert road,
Heading west for a new page,
To reap what could be sowed,
A opportunity rare in this day and age.

Eyes growing weary,
And like a mirage it does appear,
A place to make the head unbleary,
Where one can cast aside one's doubts and fears.

So alone in the journey it makes knees nearly buckle,
A sirens call is heeded,
Tempting with sultry eyes and unspoken promises.

In a haze stumbling forward,
Not aware of the dangers present,
That the boat was being lead shoreward,
To be dashed upon a jagged outcropping's crescent.

It is here one gets ******,
Like a fish when it realized it's been hooked,
That the risks are everywhere,
Like stumbling into a minefield,
Not recognizing the risks until halfway across.

It's enough to bring the brakes to a screeching halt,
The sudden sound warbling through the empty desert air,
Kicking up clouds of sandand salt,
Seeing to one's horror that there is nothing really there.

It's enough to ***** off even the most steady,
To be tricked by the wraiths of the land,
One had to speed across these parts ever at the ready,
Otherwise they invite disaster and ruin,
As they oft walk hand-in-hand.

So tear through these deadlands,
Never look back,
And don't need the sirens call,
None of it is real.

So tear through these deadlands,
Never try to get to the shack,
It doesn't contain what you think you lack,
Just the fires and poisons of your enemies,
Those enemies of your past.