Shawnee Overlook

V-eight engine caravans rumbled up the terraced heights On two-lane gravel forest roads, headlights leading through the night. No guardrail held a lost machine from careening down the hill, As hands yanked hard on standard shifts to control the winding thrills. The caravan found an oasis on distant Shawnee ground, Emerging from their metal cocoons with little nervous sounds To converse beside a campfire or to imbibe spirits in the air That still drew breath in darkened woods so native and so rare. Promises silently waited behind the black primeval veil For teens to wander curiously on nature's many trails. Blood stirred by new sensations shot quickly to hungry hearts Past judgments and restrictions set to keep dark souls apart. With pranks and rash intrusions, with laughter and with fear, Some dared to tempt the darkness deep while some kept wanderings near. Some could barely sense the scars that night seared fiery on their souls. Some left all their inhibitions there, not once more to control. Some felt entwined in gentle words; some fell victim to false rhyme. Some passed the bounds of passionate; some barely touched the line. But all who took the ride that night looked Dionysus in the face. And many awaited the daylight sun to beg Apollo's grace. So, when summer nights grow restless for mystery and desire A V-eight ride on dark forest roads ignites a sacred fire. Free roaming in the natural world and waiting for a mind Is darkness, an old friend of youth, the keeper of its kind. Frank Thompson March 2009