The Dragon

Too quiet is the man
with something to hide
on a cold northern highway
thumbing a ride

Journey, today
for his haven and hearth
grief on his face
sorrow in his heart

Into this frozen Earth
his destiny is sown
beneath concrete roofs
and walls of stone

asphalt floors, his feet convey
the luxury of his winter chalet
along this vast
American
Appian way

20 below, trying to get warm
cars slide by
a Christmastime storm
some flipped him the bird
others honked their horns
passing him by
glaring their scorn

the travelers had lost their fresh faces
there was too much violence
in too many places

4000 miles
very little sleep
when he comes to the crest
he cannot help but weep

His hometown has been damned
the mountainsides logged
the pinnacles rammed
the erosion, the machines
the scars remain
barren and abandoned
they pray for the rain
into the teeth of the Dragon
his future is crammed

The Dragon puffs smoke
the particles flying
offensive odors
there's no denying

A gushing flow of honey
from paycheck to paycheck
the sweet smell of money
to others
the rotten stench of the dying

The Dragon, the trucks, the men
sporting green
ecology colors
deceptively mean

The poison act quickly
that of an asp
Dragon fangs embedded
he's caught in the grasp

Which washes his superior feeling
he's just like those others
who've been sent reeling
for freedom they long
for air
they gasp