Point out to me the road away from evergreen

Where the forest grows sparse and the sky falls

Flowing like rain to fill in the empty spaces

A rain that chokes the growing things

And runs in torrents around our sinking lives

Listen above the whirlwind for a wailing voice

Calling with an offer to sell you the only way out:

Forget, forget, and find comfort in forgetting

No chance to lament the lost wanderer

Who treads a path away from here

I walk my own road, to ruin or redemption

Out in the rain and falling calamity

My skin so numb I no longer feel the cold

Lost in a mind that cannot see beyond the veil

And cannot remember the voices of those I left behind

—

I need to see more of the world. Every day that fact becomes more apparent to me. Wasn’t it Mark Twain who said something about travel being the cure for hatred toward others? Hang on I’ll find it.

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” – Mark Twain

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Image by Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay