Moving Target

alone on the road, facing up to both the past & the future. boy, that sounds dreary.

Moving Target

Yellow lines on the pavement
Lead me away from the known,
The experienced.
Am I running to or from?
The rush of trees,
A blur of mystery green,
Urges me to my destination.
Will I arrive in the dark,
Or the light?
Only the road knows for sure,
And it’s not talking.
The constant hum of the wheels,
And mist on the windshield,
Assure me it’s not important.
A moving target is harder to hit.