The Slumber of a Tired Road

I find myself resting on my path home,
A misty seat in the grass as I see the fog kiss the windshields of the cars that pass
The road obstructed for those in motion but clearer to those with nowhere to go

The warm breath of car exhaust
Breaks the barrier of congealed cold
As these pilgrims glide past potholes repaired long ago
On pavement that carries scars like currency

The road below these wheels has been traversed by countless lives
Even before I bothered to look,
Passed over by many souls’ forewarning
We drive and ride across the pavement, expecting a numb smoothness

Every crack disrupts our dream because we want comfort.
We could take a closer look, even drill through the asphalt 
And expose the rocky rubble and dirt further below
But to dance with that history would be a waltz
With a partner that holds a scabbard of trauma in its sheath

We feel that the presence of that sword brings us strength,
But we beg others to keep their own blades out of the air
Because we’ve either seen or heard of the blood they can draw

Their cuts felled loved ones without hem or haw
We’ve had to retrieve the bits and pieces
Enrichment in chaos that has made us who we are
But that we wish on no one else.

So I sit and watch the cars pass by,
Over this neatly paved asphalt and tar surface
Over the dirt roads that lay before
Aware of the rocks and blood dried beneath the wet mist of the grass I sit on

It’s probably time I head home.

—————

It is second nature to complain when the path is clear
Because every pebble is an inconvenience
Patience wears thinner when there are less things in the way

But when to live is to struggle
Respite comes as a curse of confusion
And the smoothness of the road is like a lullaby to the caffeinated