Weakened in all the right places
The floor beneath the Travelers feet
Creaks and strains below his gait
Blood soaked and broken corpses
Wait complacently to be planted
In the damp crawl space below
While white crisp snow freezes ground
Only the sweet hope of Spring
Will allow the earth to yield to his shovel
Digging down just far enough
To cover the secrets and lies
Their eyes sit forever open
That last look of terror staring out
Soon to be forever blinded by black earth
And kept from the light
With only the birds above as witness
The smell of rotting flesh
Makes him long for the road
Makes him yearn for the journey
Makes him giddy for darkness
After this planting season is done
Long after their faces blend into
Macabre muddy portraits in his mind’s eye
He will carry them with him
While he hunts the highways again