Rumbling Roads

RUMBLING ROADS. I can spend time scribbling words Already written in 1000 note books I could watch intently those that already HAVE And try to get what they have achieved I could do well too, if I pretend that I'm alone And live on, on my own different path, I may as well think of: FATE That fate itself doesn't exist nor does destiny I may read over and try to feel everything Or I may read and try not to understand a thing. I may take it that I understand the logic in ignorance Or believe that it is the greatest bliss of all I would believe what have always been within Would I trust my instincts or disbelieve trust itself? II Where I come from, I'm certain of Where my so-called wisdom leads is a mystery I can wallow in this knowledge and be complacent Do autopsies of my self-made philosophy And stick lead-notes on boards of rusted cliches I could be Jubilant and celebrate my acknowledgements, I could try to understand how my wits work File reports on my findings and make an archive; For the forthcoming generation to tear at my woe- perhaps the mystery will fade, Perhaps it's existence will never be fathomed And I'll be sure then that this wisdom is far-fetched Questions; I could stop asking lots of questions too. III Answers, they are always there Way-laying in the paths of questions, doubt and sweat In the tongues of pain and fiery bitter-sweet In the crunching stones rolled on by rumbling tires Truth; answers are in the truth that the road sires Always there for you to step on and wonder For you to spit on and cross over Answers are on the clean surface of city tarmacs In wreckage scenes of uncleared accident tracks In the blood seeping grounds of roads of gravel Answers are in your shoes as you trudge on Into the unsatisfying world of demanding enlightenment Into the future that beckons you to step forwards Answers are in the dust you make along the rumbling roads. -Lucas-