Narrow wheels

cast a net across the sands
of times we have not seen
for the freedom of our minds
to rest and rhyme with fallen leaves

a world revolving
keeps on turning with narrow wheels upon the ground
while the heavy hands of man are blurring skies, burning lives
faintly swerving, but are we so deserving,
of all the cargo we can carry?

so hastily the narrow lines are swept up
around the wide wheels of our machines - that

drive us too, that supply our food

so are we all to blame for chasing down
the rain and seasons, demanding more and more for less

and now

the buckling of narrow wheels around the
grinding cause of our global catastrophy to come
causes nothing less than a full reaction

a brutal shock of screaming brakes and broken paint

a loss of everything sacred, of all direction

of all beauty and face, style, substance and grace.

our cause is chased down
to the freshly scratched earth,
ground in oil - tasting of the end.

nobody can make amends or bend the facts,
but knowing that it goes on does not stop
you dying, crying, heart stolen by a stupid world

wildly ignorant of the causes

rewards without feeling for the freedom
to wander and whirl through the air, fresh and unfocused
upon anything but the minimal journey without impact
and getting there to a place where

dreams lay unbroken by the engine.

so a poignant, powerful vision
is all that is left, that life
snatched so cruelly
might return a regret for our own neglect

of the more natural,

minimal way.

by Gareth Rosser