Ceaseless miles of dirt and dust, exasperated soil, dry from the sun’s heavy rays
That soaked into my skin, sent droplets of sweat down my neck as I traveled.
Along the open road, I spent time shadowing the edge of the highway,
Pondering questions of humanity, evaluating life’s essential values,
And praising those who had found the answers to all that I sought.


My experiences along that unpaved paradise and the memories I captured there
Are all that sustain me, now, in my less than sensational days.
A real vagabond, I was, holding true to definition.
I found comfort and solace in the strangers that surrounded me.
I learned to define home as wherever I chose to lay my head down,
For a moonlit slumber, night to starry night.
I declared nature as my irrevocable family, and learn to appreciate the unseen wonders
I would have simply looked over,
If the open road had not instilled greater values within me.

I romanticized the vanilla life of the pure and simple
Viewing the removal of superfluous clutter in lust.
Notions of living one with the wild polluted my sanity,
Driving me to abandon my identity, and to reject normal establishments
All on a whim, hastening myself into the most self-fulfilling adventure.

During that time, I, lionhearted and undaunted, ventured into far-flung adventures,
Like a pilgrim, a pathfinder, a pioneer ,
Often settling that my realm of capabilities was inapt to tackle all that I envisioned in my mind,
Yet brushing off any sensible reminders of conscience as being unsound,
Resolving to once again follow my valiant, high-spirited ways.

I felt at home amidst the wild.
Vast expanses of nature, in its pure forms, ignited my soul.
Cotton-dotted meadows, baked barren land,
And even what some would consider filthy wastelands
Were among the world’s greatest beauties in my electrified eyes.
I loved any place that made me feel small.

I wanted to capture every wonder I witnessed along the road,
And stitch them into the threads of my heart, to carry forever.
I wanted to go fishing and catch the sky,
To go searching and find nothing, or everything,
I wanted to cradle the moon in my hands.
And the road was my toolbox to do so.

Somewhere along the trail, I casted away the moral compass that once guided me
And protected me from the dangers of an ever-changing world.
Instead choosing to follow the compass of my gypsy soul
And to chase my navigational dreams.

During this adventure, there were times spent in solitude, immersing myself in reclusiveness,
Where my sole companion was the shadow that kissed my feet.
And yet other times still, where I opened the book of my being to the world
Allowing drifters to flip through my pages,
And skim through the flow of irrational ponders
That provided as my worldly traveling muse.

Sporadically, along the map of my insatiable wanderlust, I recollect a few instances I
Glanced behind my momentary whereabouts, pausing for a fleeting second,
Stealing one spare afterimage of the dust the shuffling of my feet had stirred,
That left a dense overcast haze of old sod, blanketing my trifling footprints,
The only indicia of my existence along the road.

I loved to feel temporary, desired to feel irrelevant.
I hungered for a freedom so great,
That it would be incomprehensible to the human mind.
I wanted to conquer new territories, filled with ever greens and new spring spruce.
I longed my life to be shaped by circumstance,
To allow pure instance direct my behavior.
I craved to break through the plaster-mold society pours and locks individuals in.
I needed to know what it is to be truly free,
And although these desires bestowed upon me a few brushes with death,
I managed to achieve my passionate gypsy desires without a single trace of regret.