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ADELAIDE Independent Monthly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Mensal, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 




 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

ROAD TRIP
by Sarah Sherwood

 

 

 

 

A Wild Place

I come from a place quite untouched by fame,
Where waters flow, quiet and pure.
In this place, there’s no conquest to claim.
The people are safe and secure.

I come from a distant place where flowers grow,
Their blossoms paint the spring.
Where I come from, the people all know
The magic of Earth’s wild things.

It takes a whole village to raise up one child,
Yes, this much I know to be true,
But children must be raised both magic and wild,
Or else they will end up like you.

Where is the magic in all that you see,
Where do your spring flowers bloom?
If we are not wild, if we are not free
Then surely we have met our doom.

 

 

 

 

 

Road Trip

You say let’s go, let’s take the open road.
We’ll find a place with pine scent in the air.
Our skin glows beneath the garish lights.
You blame the city for making me so soft.
Armed with the warmth of something just awake,
I start to wonder what you want from me.

There is a stillness in the soul of me.
Our winter proves a long and weary road.
Something inside me is not yet awake.
The darkness hovers mist-like in the air,
The ice inside my veins does not go soft.
My heartbeat matches the flashing stop lights.

In the dark I can only see headlights.
No drop of radiant day saved for me.
There’s no moon in the sky, the starlight’s soft.
Hopelessness and hope converge on a two-lane road.
Dark and light both swirling through the air,
Yet I still find it hard to stay awake.

The gentlest people rarely feel awake—
At least that’s what they’ve told me, and the lights
Of fireflies dance through the evening air
As I reflect that you hardly know me.
My childhood flew away beyond the road.
No more will I be gentle, no more soft.

Maybe the city did not make me soft,
Maybe you’re why I could not wake.
As I stand by the side of this long road,
I watch you head for looming neon lights.
And see exactly why you asked for me.
Your love for me has frozen in the air.

So you return to smoke and dust-filled air,
As winter melts away with spring rain falling soft.
I’ll take back all the things you took from me.
Without you near, my spirit is awake.
Soon I will see the world and all its lights,
While you stay on your same old open road.

My road brings me to that pine scented air,
And softly, soft, I dance among the lights.
I am me. I am here. I am awake.

 

 

 

About the Author:

 

 




 




 

 

 

     
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