Travel down that Road with me, travel down that Road
Not to a Place, or a Time, or a Memory...
But a Feeling.
You know the one I mean.
The feeling that does not have any words to describe it.
I would best call it.... I don't know.... searching.
Contentment, stretching its muscles languorously,
Pushing against Boundaries, not as if to destroy the
Walls of a Prison, but as if one reaching out to the
Rough-hewn rock for the first time, feeling the deliciously
Cool texture against finger-tips and cheek.
Like stretching muscles you didn't know you have.
A slight tug of resistance -- maybe even a little pain --
But nothing you cannot handle, or even welcome.
Fixing the Calendar won't work - neither of us trusts
That drunken guardian Time to keep vigil on the Truth.
To a Place? As if the mind could be so contained.
To Memory? She's a whore: she goes where the money is.
(Don't mention Logic. The smartest never have a clue.)
All we have left, then, is admittedly the worst standard of
Measurement available; we can never explain it to others.
Something we can rarely understand in ourselves.
An inner THRUM of Thought and Bone fused together.
Can you feel it? Is your soul stretching with a slow smile?
Travel down that Road with me. Travel down that Road.
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