The Open Road

There it is, and swept along, the common wind of everyday reality, leading through the metaphysical and to infinity. There, and just for us. It is too soon ignored. Too soon, conformity. Too soon the halloos are but faint upon our ears. The marchers will retire; iconoclasts abandon the most distant cause. The infinite is just too far away. It matters not. The road begins just out of town, and that is where faith travels...down the path of martyrdom and ecstasy, of beauty and disgust. It is Frost's road less traveled and sheer faith is like that as it must be, forging ever far ahead, irrespective of terrain both now and ages in the sweep of ages never dreamed, and there, and open still. There. Just out of town. And who will set upon it, now, with me? No surety. I'm out of promises. It's just a road. Now will you come? ~