by Eric Y. Theriault

Driving late at night,
down an old bumpy road.
Everything seems brand new,
But I know I've been here before.

With no stop signs or green lights;
With not rest stops or informationals;
I wander this road aimlessly,
But with a destination in mind.

Researched all libraries and all my friends,
And for a road so well travelled,
Would you believe it if I stated;
That no two maps be the same.

Am I heading in the right direction,
Or should I turn around?
For I know not which is towards home,
Eventhough I've been here many times before.