Back on the Rails

Enough of chasing sparks through a field of straw,
calling every flame a sunrise.
Enough of crowning noise as wisdom
and feeding every stray excuse.

The road is still there—
a black river under the dust,
its white lines like knuckles
pointing straight through the dark.
Put both hands on the wheel.
Let purpose be the engine,
let truth burn clean in the tank,
and drive.

Drop the foolishness like a rusted chain.
Leave it clattering at the crossroads.
You were not built to circle the drain;
you were built like a compass—
to tremble, to steady,
to find north again.

So rise.
Hammer your days into shape.
Lay each choice like iron track.
The past can howl behind you,
but it does not hold the reins.

Get back on track.
Not softly. Not someday.
Now—
with a spine like a bridge,
a heart like a drum,
and no more room
for the circus of excuses.