The natives are restless,
and your “fortress” is a mess.
Long hauls have a heavy price to pay
and it gets a bit scary on the open prairie.
Water is scarce and the buzzards
bide their time. It’s no crime getting the spoils
when the victor vultures toil high in the desert sky.

The dust kicks up and the wind drives hard
piercing like needles, buffeting cheeks and eyes,
dry and burning and yearning for a soft bed
and a place where prayers seem less fruitless.
Hopeless was good for romantics, but not for survival;
your arrival pivots on your staying alive.

So, you strive to not become a part of the landscape,
and your escape can only be to reach your destination.
Campfire crackles and coyote howls fill the night,
moonlight, your only security. The surety of you
finding gold is less likely than not dying old in a warm bed.
You dread the alternatives. But if you learned one thing,

it is to bring the wagons full circle. A new life
will give you a purpose; a chance to dance beneath the stars
knowing this growing land is all right for settling.
“Go West”, Greeley said. Go West for a young man’s destiny
is manifest. The rest is up to his wile and cunning.
There is no running away. There’s only heading to. Wagons Ho!

(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s