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