Roads

Pot holes and detours, every kind of contours.

Roads are a going thing, all over the world they are laid.

They go up, and they go down, they'll take you all over town.

Thought, like a habit, fearful of the unknown, recycled to redundancy.

Thought, like a bird on the wing, Here and there and back again, filtering, sampling, wondering.

Thought, like a river, Flowing to the end, finding more than it dreamed. Flowing with the roads without end.

Taking the high road, some times the low,

Where ever my thoughs takes me and roads go.

~

©

Rexx