The Night Ride
Nothing but forty feet of black top illuminated by the diesel's eyes and walls of ever-deepening darkness swallowing up the world behind us.  All that is heard is the growl of young men's music and the low rumble of the rider's steed.  An urgent need to arrive at the destination cries to us of adventures grand and small as we cut through the abyss that is 90.  We pass other travelers as we speed through night's ethereal kingdom.  Dark shadows greet any prying eye whose vision wanders too far into the other traveler's private sphere of safety.  Safe, only because the mode of conveyance is a pilgrim's last remnant of home.  The fears of those who are unacquainted with the night are a monument to the fortitude of the hearth.  When at last we see the sparkling lights of Missoula, the bindings of silence are released and our words are set free.  With the return of speech, come the debates over tales told and adventures yet to be had.  When the city unfolds to allow us entrance our voices crescendo until the world seems filled with the palpable exuberance of youth.  Thus ended the night ride and there began the quest for stories to last until the ultimate night comes for us.


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John_Drydin
Poetry
Free Verse
writing John_Drydin
"History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it" ~Winston Churchhill~
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Synopsis
just some fancy words to describe a fun little road trip with some friends
A Word from the Writer
I was hammered drunk when I wrote this so it may not be great art
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