Loud Silence in Our Rearview: Hiding the Past Without A Future

The places I've been, odd places seen. Of narrowing roads-clean, but old and never revealing. Secrets and pain, exploding beneath.. A rising ocean and lowly sitting bridge. tarred and clean still, yet worn out and thin still. cracking and crumbling against such pressure and waves, tumbling.
Clean as it was; just a moment and a long pause.
Discovered now, drenched, thin, in oceans of muddy water. filthy from the cracks traveling through this road's swelling secrets. Clean as it was; clean as it once was. Just a moment and a long pause. 
All together, all at once, burrowing my imagination of tomorrow's acres; acres welded into mountains born of sky... Another colorless season and formless mirage.
Truth be told, this traveler's not alone ..yet dredging solo; one-eyed; blood shot sight; incisive bearing of the mind, free from myopia. A wholesomeness concealed beneath the blooded and wounded eye; just as the road's era of secret knowing and inertia. Traveling light, all but hope left behind in flight.
Dreamed of this revealing and concealing at night. Now heavily breathing into waking, catching a quick glimpse-out beneath the sky-of a mirage. several mirages after: dredging, still. this is the stuff futures are made of, is the thing they say. This may be faith in how they pray. The sweet taste of spinning ribbons off of packaged dreams. Never had they imagined the un-earthing of such pungent taste as dust. One broken eye, one rushing mirage and a few un-promised futures. imagine this quick scene of the ocean and narrowest roads, with pressure & boiling-traveling acres-between...a mirage ahead, a brightly charcoal-ed view of  loud silence, edging behind.