The Road I call Home

Feet pound down on the road
Soes fly up through dirt
Toes dig into sharp gravel
Spikes taste the sting of battle through grass
My shoes have traveled the world for miles
Always leading to the road I call home

I sprint down, banking left to home
Feet flaking off bits of dirt
My other hands have taken me miles
Through the frost-bitten grass
Kicking, spraying bits of gravel
Hearing the mad crash of my feet on road

Pain blurs the road
The digs and cuts blood drawn from gravel
Sweating body caked with dirt
Faces bleed together after miles
Longing to see the open arms of home
Like paint, I mark the grass.

In forest, carve way through grass
Passion needs no road
No crackle of Puma shoes on gravel
Just the animal's paws on soft dirt
The trickle of waterfalls bringing man home
No cars screeching by for miles

Five-fifty per pace, I count the miles
Ten miles to the hour, almost home
Breakneck speeds reached down asphalt road
No inertia lost over loose, cheap gravel
No records broken in slippery, tall grass
No speed can be found in this dirt

Only nature is found in this dirt
The Run is Church with the grass
Communion with the open road
Hymns drag on for miles and miles
With altars of leaves and carpets of gravel
Always leading to the road I call home.