There is a road.
No, less than that,
It is a path,
Worn into the baked dust,
Traveled by uncounted feet:
Men,
Goats,
Children,
Armies…
All seeking journey’s end.
To call this emptiness
Trackless,
Is to misunderstand
The transcendental beauty
Of the nighttime stars
As they flare overhead.
Guiding lights,
A map to be read by
Men,
Goats,
Children,
Armies…
All searching for answers.
To name this desert
Nothing
Is to misunderstand
The cruciform paradox
Formed by the mind
As it blazes, unexplained.
this is so well written that it shocked me, coming with such a simple title, i was so pleasantly surprised
Reviewed by Amy Hess (Reader)
Reviewed on March 16, 2005
WoW! Kevin! This is awesome! (And I don't hand out compliments mildly.) I especially like the parallel in your form that echos the metaphor of journey. Also, the reiteration of your list and your correction of road to path shows a new maturity in your work. Bravo!!
Questions, unquestioned discoveries, and answers in parable and rhyme…. This collection records a journey starting with a 1960s retrospective and the first man on the moon, moving to a new millennium welcomed in with a terrorist spin, family crises,
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