only eight miles

the road that plunges deeper through the dark
leads to no mysteries just other homes
and in the end to where the sea just foams
on shores where fading pirates left their mark
great worlds collide in what is not a park
but where the hungry child or poet roams
or where the mermaid her soft hair now combs
and yet we went there only on a lark
earth's curve hides from us more than just a tale
of who we are or were and where we've been
the past is never past but we forget
the force of sunlight and the angry gale
the image of some awful monstruous grin
and deviate from the stern purpose set
we laughing will tramp forward on a bet
without regard for the sad empty wail
of spirits that must take it on the chin
uncertain now of just what we might get
as in the distance we see the last sail
and right behind us people bob and spin
truth comes and goes when we here speak of art
the setting sun sends arrows through the heart