Poesi: Mutilated

The wind turbines, always moving but never taking flight.

The trees tugging and reaching their branches trying to touch the road below.
Our wheels rolling atop the the mutilated rocks
as we watch sunrays streak the sky from behind a cloud,
the cloud taking form of a wolf running across the befriended sun.
The wheels keep turning as we drown out our thoughts
with the soulless music rasping through the stereo,
ignoring the tuggings of our souls trying to reach out
and softly graze the trees beside the sloping ditches on both sides.