Moving On

Moving OnThe stage coach, a dust devil changing time.Moving swiftly with wheels, turning,churning, chewing up the road.Rolling down ruts in the drought driven desert.The “crack” of the whip, a strike of lightning,thrashing the horses on their backs. In that second,I feel their poignant pain. It is futility for…They cannot go faster with their burden.We head east. Golden ribbons entwinedWith purple majesty cross the buttes and mountainsThe sun attempts to dive into the west.How can something so beautiful hurt so much?In the rocks I see facial featuresFamily, forsaken, deserted when we left.Now their faces engraved into the craggy rocks.Shadows of purple, vividly identify each,As they look at me watching me go.The road snakes its way through the valleyThe trail is long. The tendrils of some desert beastWrap me up and I cannot breath, I silently weep.My heart cannot hardly beat. I pull away.Can the coach move forward faster,than my will to return home?Home is “where you belong’.How can I live here in fear, even for a time?I am a prisoner, to making a living.Life changes, pain increases, tears flowWe must endure…Move On.IlaMae Stucki (c) March 2010