Metanoia

Winding

          Winding

roads confuse the mind,
deplete the soul; render useless
maps made blank in the dark.

Light outside the car makes no
difference. No matter how far
I drive it cannot bend and light
the way along the road I travel.

Pressing foot to floorboard, I
hurtle forward, careen round
curves towards unseen crossroad.

Destination sought within.