In search of the ever elusive dream,
driving endless hours, into days.
Highways, bi-ways, dirt roads, and paved.
Hustle bustle big cities,
small quiet sleepy towns alike,
passing through and screaming by.
Seeing people and faces,
never knowing their lives,
or stopping long enough to get a name.
There must be something to hold them here,
like shocks of wheat waiting for harvest,
something that keeps them planted.

Ragged from miles of bumps, wind, and rain,
another seventy-five miles to cover,
before rest can be obtained.
Someday, I hope to find my something,
my something that keeps me planted.
Until then I'll keep chasing down,
or running away from, the sun.
Out on the highway.

06/02/2002

Posted on 06/02/2002
Copyright © 2025 Adrian Calhoun