In Medias Res

Ours is a restless era,
A nation of nomads
Always in the midst
Of transition,
A story without beginning,
Without end,
Perpetually somewhere in the middle,
On the roads,
On the roads,
Always on the roads,
Never close to where we want to go,
Choosing for convenience 
To live far from work,
From family,
From roots, 
Shot forth from a tree
Grown thick
In a forest
We will never see,
Will stop even believing 
Exists,
A course barrier
Having grown up
Between where we came from
And where we wish we were,
Lost in a dream,
A happy one,
Yet troubling.
Restless.

In medias res.

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