Thursday, November 17, 2005


All along the highway, craters;
and a roadside glance reveals
shock absorbers, radiators,
hub caps, mufflers, fractured wheels.
These, the spoils of wanton living
— as to ill we, too, are fated:
that a route once smooth, forgiving,
all too soon lies perforated.

Yet, we humans, bold and daring,
heedless of our mortal stations,
daily — unmindful, uncaring —

navigate the excavations.
Unaware our souls pay dearly
— shaken to our cytoplasm —
off we motor, cavalierly,
into the eternal chasm
... as a wheel coasts to the shoulder.

Thus concludes our episode.

We'd all live to be much older,
but for potholes in the road.

— Ender

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