And now the third and final part.
(Being part 3 in Walking)
I didn’t choose a path in life. A road, no matter its condition,
is a noose. I can’t speak on the lonely highway,
nor can I tell the aim of its pursuits. I have yet to see
the grass on the shoulder on the road. The rocks there are
markers for the damned. The dead give a warning all acknowledge yet
it’s meaning is muted. No one hears the story of the highwaymen
who lie there, in their granite graves.
A traveler asked me about my journey
and only spoke of his own. He was ensnared by his God.
I laughed at his jokes and he became uneasy
as he tried to tell me, in high speech,
that I have chosen too many roads,
and thus walk none. He was kind and platonic.
He knows nothing.
I have a map. It has cities and villages
but not a single road or highway.
It is not a how, but a what. This map is the
guide to the those who never go.
It is meant for you