Saturday, June 30, 2007

"Innocent Armadillo"

Gleaming mirages upon the road
The '68 Lincoln turns the bend
Dry gulch streams on either side
Landscapes cause ones mind to suspend
Rolling tumbleweeds make their way
Cactus observing do not encroach
All things are allowed to pass
In silence beyond all reproach
Mountaintops in distant view
Nothing remains in place forever
Living creatures continue to thrive
Involved in the daily endeavor
The quiet Armadillo scarcely seen
Scratching the surface for carion bits
Unconcerned what passes by
Unto the search it verily commits
In the distance his grey image
Scrounging by the desolate roadside
The road is true with burning asphalt
Open expanses of the range are wide
Wheels that turn in their rolling motion
In the unrelenting veritable commotion
His grey form with its shadow
Asphalt burns my throat
In passive daydream emotion
Secret visions remain remote
Wheels turn purposely towards
Leaving the asphalt road
Upon this Armadillo they point
Gloating eyes brightly as a cathode
Breif moments of sanity cloud me
Attempting to turn the wheels of fate
In the ensuing struggle the wheels continue
My actions are but a moment late
To know the mind of another
Values of exsisting statistics
Actions make them meaningless
In comparison to all logistics
Making sense of things is fruitless
Searching for a sensible reason
A steady mind is hard to find
Hiding within are acts of treason
Not a moment has passed by
Wheels halt quickly
From the '68 Lincoln
Upon my dufflebag sickly
Five hundred feet back down the road
To where he lays alone
Motionless under the quiet skies
Sorrow penetrates me to the bone
Silently a shallow grave
He hears not what my mind thinks
Gently he is wrapped in my shirt
Dejected as my own heart sinks
Only dust remains from the wheels
Over a horizon it dissapears
Trying to reason what has occured
Validating my most inner fears
That simple twisted body
I walked the lonely road
Until I came to a town
With my burdened load
On the Greyhound staring
Into open space
Headed towards my old home
Where I could find a place
To sit and ponder
What had happened
Innocence died before my face
Although I had sympathy
I had seen the ugliness
Of uncontrolled disgrace
Not a day goes by
I remember all
The innocent Armadillo
Who sits upon the wall
Placed within my mind

© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

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