Frozen in thought . . .
the silver gray moon bends
the sun's will toward an earthly
gravel grave in the Walker County
strip pit .
It was only yesterday . . .
when the Cougar Eliminator
prowled the highways of disappearing
white stripes seeking a crescent city moon that lays naked in the bending arms of it's river lover
"Drive !" , he said . . .
so I hit the pedal hard spinning tires
and burning up the moments in haste
that I would someday regret throwing
to the stars
Like a wolf howls at the moon . . .
we howled at our youth . . .
so far from home unaware we were truly all alone in bent light of folly
The horizon cradled the moon . . .
slipping beyond the bridges of our possibilities and I am thinking of Macbeth blowing out his candles
"Drive !" , he said . . .
life is a stage , a highway going forward measured by our distance divided by time we are so defined
I have driven to the moon . . .
collected sunbeams and bent the light
and drove back howling with a midnight's voice warm in the south by southwest winds
So I will drive on . . .
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 3:16 AM UTC
Frozen in thought . . .
the silver gray moon bends
the sun's will toward an earthly
gravel grave in the Walker County
strip pit .
It was only yesterday . . .
when the Cougar Eliminator
prowled the highways of disappearing
white stripes seeking a crescent city moon that lays naked in the bending arms of it's river lover
"Drive !" , he said . . .
so I hit the pedal hard spinning tires
and burning up the moments in haste
that I would someday regret throwing
to the stars
Like a wolf howls at the moon . . .
we howled at our youth . . .
so far from home unaware we were truly all alone in bent light of folly
The horizon cradled the moon . . .
slipping beyond the bridges of our possibilities and I am thinking of Macbeth blowing out his candles
"Drive !" , he said . . .
life is a stage , a highway going forward measured by our distance divided by time we are so defined
I have driven to the moon . . .
collected sunbeams and bent the light
and drove back howling with a midnight's voice warm in the south by southwest winds
So I will drive on . . .
Request permission to use this poem