Riding in Pennsylvania

I think the gods release these winds

As i push up hill.

Like the lost ones i want nothing

But to go back,

But concurrently a feeling of need,

Desire,

A passion like fire

Keeps pushing the tire that would so easily

Give up.

 

To my left, fields of what we call nothing.

They stir little emotion

for us,

But reality says different.

These fields glide on the wings of an ill understood dream.

They make and break peoples lives when they cease to yield.

People we ignore.

People we forget.

These fields make me remember that they're

Here.

They make me forget the violence

And broken silence

Of the ways of our established world.

I can breath here and actually smell

Life, stirring without worry.

 

And so i push on,

Uphill,

Through heaving breaths of the freshest air

I've ever known.

And my sweat lands in the grass,

Its water providing nutrients for the crop.

And as growth takes host,

I soon become one with the land.

 

 

But still,

Through these fields,

I found something more devout than Mennonites

Something more serene than the Amish.

Something deeper than myself.

I found America.