61 to the border

Blind Spot Creatives - 61 to the Border - Alyssa Johnson - Poem

I took 61 to the border,
if I run just a bit longer
I’ll get where I don’t need to go.

How long can I hide from these shadows inside,
at what point will they catch up with me?

As the wives tale told
moss-less is a rolling stone.

I claim it’s an attempt to be free
as I shake like the leaves on the old oak tree.

Freedom is a state of mind-
as I remind myself lovin’ ain’t a crime.

The clock ticks and it tocks
and I can’t seem to stop
as I continue North
winding through the Saw Tooth Mouth.

The pines push me further,
I never meant to hurt her.
That soft heart
with only one intention,
to nurture.

A pretty girl sits in front of me
but I can’t let her in,
poor things’ paying for the last ones sins.

No one can mend this hesitant heart,
I’ve been fickle since the very start.

But mama told me to choose love,
yet a thousand miles sits between
as I’m left with an old dusty memory.

One day I want her,
the next I don’t,
as I pull around a bag of high hopes.

The loneliness is heavier than I remember.
Convoluted feelings, tangled and tethered.

In those eyes I found a home,
what does it take to make love grow?

Maybe it’s time to let the old ways die
as the wind creaks its bellowed cry.

Waxing and waining,
impatiently waiting
as the bitter cold
attacks these bare bones.

The seasons shift
and just as quick
I’m back on the open road.

This trip different,
as the compass dial
counts its last mile.

The grass wasn’t greener
wherever I went
and I watched my demeanor
adapt to winters descent.

The goodbyes were embraced,
I wonder what it was I chased.

Leaving a million times
only to return
to that simple twist of fate.