Roads

Roads are vessels rot buoyant tires
that churn us along paths
where we have always been
all the while;
Veins are vessels that direct
platelets to where they need belong;

See out there in the sunset bush
afire with the dying sun's light,
and you can be free of the longing,
the longing for place
you can never be.
Even if you get there freely
and stay forever.

poem by Stan Petrovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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