Sonnet: The Highways Poem by Rory Hudson

All through the day I hear the hum of cars
on highways leading from the scrubby hills
to dry flat plains where ugly cities grow
as cancers on the skin of Mother Earth.
With vision set upon a faceless void,
the drivers pass in mesmerizing blurs
like ants that to no purpose swarm around
black holes in unforgiving sterile soil.
And thus it always is with human ways,
which circle round a centre yet unfound
and always, since the hazy dawn of time,
are caught in blurry networks of desire

which always shall in spiralled pathways go
to destinations which no man may know.