thirsty for life

bowing low

next to B3, the road

which runs 

from south to north, north to south

without ever breathing 

or sighing or loving those who travel it. 

he, grey hair, back bent in sorrow,

flowers in hand, small cross

morning, mourning

rips my heart raw, bloody

as we pass, blowing

fourteen meters swaying wind into his face, 

then leaving him alone again,

touching concrete grief for seconds, wish

i knew the story

wish i could - hold him close,

laying down

blossoms of sadness, of hope

for the people i've lost on my way

to speed, to carelessness & lovelessness,

toss the driver from his seat, take

the steering wheel & turn on the wipers, erase the tears,

tears welling up like mean dwarves

and i long

for petals raining down,

for a cross to bow before and

an arm, wrapped 'round my heart,

telling it there's a new road,

another north to south, an

east to west and a hope

to find what gets lost

so easy at the side

of madness-covered routes

and i'm breathing, breathing tears and their taste, 

salt on my lips

makes me thirsty for life


linking up with One Shot Wednesday - and i'm still on the road, still traveling - but will try to comment back by the end of the week...