THE REST STOP

Whenever we go travelling, you can always observe rest stops where ever you go.
The old village rest stops that are merely an umbrella shaped construction; older than myself might I add, always excludes a feeling of nostalgia. (nostalgia from other than the fact that these rest stops have become more of a hang out spot for grandmas' and granddads' alike.)   
When ever my family and I are on a trip and we see a rest stop any where, " In the olden days..." starts the voice of my father. Throw back time!! 

Any way let's hear it shall we:

There is a bench, old and abandoned

On the side of the road it stands

All around it are overgrown weeds, herbs and trees

In the middle of a jungle, a man-made thing.

It is a contraption, for the lack of better word

For rust has eaten away at the metal keeping it tall

As for the wood, you can say its old

Or just describe it as a termites home.

It doesn't look worn, not old from use

Just weather beaten from the raging storm

I've asked around for I'm a curious cat

The why, when, who and what

It's a rest stop people answer

Has it a purpose I reply

Then I slap my stupid head

But of course it’s a place to stop and rest

It's sad that I didn't know of its existence

Me, who cries out "I'm tired" every single day

But that's the sad beauty of it, I suppose

It's abandoned but it's what we need the most

I get to hear stories of travel but not once is the rest stop mentioned

Only my grandfather speaks up about this injustice

And recounts the countless black and white memories

With music and food so rustic

It was a time he recalled

When people stopped to take a rest

They sat at these very stops

And encountered fun and love

Those were the times, he laughs

Presently, death is the only stop

Destination is our one concern

To get there, faster we run

Winning the race has a sweetness I feel

Lo & behold you are where you need to be

Maybe different to the sweetness of resting for a bit

At the end, it's about which ever shoe fits.