Route 66

I came to your waters In my time of grief Not in search of a Moses Or some sort of short-term relief The wooden bench On which I erected my tent Groaned 'neath the weight Of my soul being bent ~to your will~ I gathered my garments Around my naked form Trying to protect myself From the looming storm Black clouds accumulated Forming a nest in the sky Recycled water.....pounding The corrupted EYE ......til I chose......to die To needing to know the WHY of living Cleansed and broken I rose from that hallowed spot I am what I am And all I am not All the taking away And adding to...perfection Is like the formation of the bench Usefulness requires rejection ....of the majority to be the minority who yields their heart to the road. Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-22-2018