A Thousand Words

There is a road near Jenny Lind
        That paints a complete rendition,
With asphalt, fence and crooked trees
   Of the complex, human condition.

The fence keeps out the unknown,
   The street sign says turn right,
The crooked tree says bend way left,
    The road, no end in sight.

The grass, both sere and thirsty,
   Will accept no other seed.
Your instincts move with caution
   But which sign do you heed?

Following inner logic,
   You proceed to move ahead...
Around the bend are vultures;
   Another traveler dead.

Just like a hundred years ago,
   You're trapped in life's fish bowl.
Wells Fargo passed this vortex,
   And installed the water hole.

All travelers on this endless road,
   We journey into history...
Each new sign and each new curve,
   Presents another mystery.

Some will find a cityscape,
   While others realize hell...
Some repair at the water hole,
    Some drown within the well.