Each of us takes our turn steering a flatbed loaded with crusade signs to spine the roadside. Refractory the flutter, the way of the artery. Whither goest thy heart?

The life-path takes us around town. Assorted signs as sails, strings of sales pitches big as whales. Each of us with a mouth shares the dragway. We stop on the pike to spike another shout, each a bullhorn billboard. Hear ye, hear ye!

But who has time to listen and to see? We make our own zombie way by the tossed trash in a heartbeat like lost sheep.

Wasn’t there a dangerous cliff somewhere up ahead? Was there not a warning sign? Not just a flag checkered.

Somewhere in our memory lane we might remember, but was it just a dream? Hard to tell now for sure what the sign once said with all the sudden silence in our chests.

Blessed be the sheep that have a truthful shepherd.

Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, he has written three published collections of poetry as well as over two hundred individual works that have been published in over one hundred publications. His fourth collection is forthcoming from Cyberwit. To see more of his work, visit www.widewide.world.