Sanctuary of Speed

Tennessee is a wild expanse

of high ridges and deep hollers,

where the earth rises up to meet the sky

in a jagged dance

of ancient rock and untamed green.

*

The Great Smoky Mountains

sit heavy on the horizon

like the spine of a sleeping giant,

covered in a veil

of shifting blue mist.

*

I feel the spirit of the hills

vibrating under the tires of this machine,

as the road winds through gaps

where the pioneers once walked

in search of a place to call home.

*

There is a frantic energy here

in the Southern soul

that matches the speed of the motor.

*

The neon signs

in the small towns

blink in the dark

like fallen stars

trying to find their way back home.

*

I hear the music of the mountains

calling from the dark places

between the peaks,

where the old songs live on

in the roots of the mountain laurel.

*

Every mile

is a testament

to the struggle of man

against the immensity of the land.

*

The mountain creek

runs cold

over limestone bedrock.

*

I see the faces of the ancestors

peering from the shadows of the pines,

their eyes reflecting

the same hunger for freedom

that drives me forward

into the unknown.

*

The state is a portal

to the heart of the American experience,

where the past and the future meet

in a flash of headlights

on the blacktop.

*

I am drifting

through the center of the continent,

chasing the phantom of a dream

that stays ahead of me

on every turn.

*

The speed is my sanctuary,

and the landscape

is my altar.