However, each route ended in a cul-de-sac,
Or a dead-end down a long, perilous dirt road.
And, the souls, once again, fell to the tricks of earth
Which promises heaven but leaves an empty space.
Although the sound of the crickets, the smell of the river,
The tune of some old Ernest Tubbs track, train-trapsing from
The transistor about love almost, almost snagged them
Into an endless longing for paradise before they turned
Around to encounter what remained for them to fully find
Outside and upside the dusty and tried and disloyal roads of life.
Writer's note: This is in response to a prompt from a writer's group with former students. We wanted to play with words and our prompts came from our creative talks. Although I was their teacher, I was so grateful for their dutiful desire to stay by my side for a couple of years after our school writing group where we tossed words up to blow where they would; we laughed; and we also wrote songs and sang them and ate my homemade ice cream which I didn't make for hardly anyone else. Most of them have gone on to college, but I am happy knowing that they are making furrows in fields and planting creative words and thoughts. I am happy for my time in their lives and theirs in mine.