Mad Road

If there is a road that I must follow and never stray,

then let it be a mad road.

Let it rise to the tallest mountains through howling wind and snow

where mountain goats traverse and the horizon starts to bow

rising far above the clouds into the stars that surely know

how hard it is to follow a straight and constant path.

Pulled forth by the winds of time I heave my sails up the mast.

Let the road have slick, sharp corners where beasts of fire attack

and wild bolts of lightning licking sharply at my back.

Please sound the wicked horns of death as the road begins to crack.

Let it sink so harshly that I outrun gravity’s grip

and land without transition where the Earth itself has ripped.

Let me experience true suffering and play its mournful song

until I rise above the trenches to find where I belong,

above the wildest country and far from the city’s throngs.

Let me think I am making choices about which way is right

before plunging me ever deeper into the coldest night.

If there really is a road from which I must not ever stray

then I will curse it passionately as I dodge and sprint away

and smash the chains of fate itself into the fading day

and when I have escaped its walls and take freedom’s first breath,

perhaps I’ll look before me to find the road has never left.

If there truly is a road on which I’ll always ride

then let it be a mad road.