To a Destination

A fox lies dead in the middle of the carriage way,
Ears pricked up to hear it all pass by,

As windmills at the heart of the ocean spin clockwise,
Electricity defying conduction and the currents,

And a cathedral stands tall against the painted evening sky,
Goers looking up, enlightened, while the priest skulks away,

Fields of gold rolling across his eyes’ sight, and further again,
While cattle and sheep graze the day away, every day,

A lone mountain looms larger, shadow outreaching,
Blocking out all sunlight, darkness devouring all the cars,

With castle ruins, crumbled and broken, regaining their former glory,
Horses’ gallops shaking the Earth to protect a reborn kingdom,

Overlooked by a giant oak tree, offering a throne that sees everything,
Out to the soulless sea and beyond the heartless horizon,

Watching the three cars line up two hundred kilometres down the road,
Uniting in friendship and in a journey to one destination,

Every action taken in blatant disregard to the bordered up houses in the empty town,
Always thinking of the Worm’s Hill that awaits them at this trip’s end,

Its sheer being coincidence enough to warrant a visit.