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UNBOUND
Yes, the days keep passing by:
The traveller meets strangers,
His way moves on...
Rest is hard to find,
Wayside taverns abound,
No peace for the seeking mind,
Always to be found.
Ceaseless struggle going on,
Wounding feeding upon wound,
Dreams, fancies, perceptions, facts,
A constant, weary roam --
A sadness, unknown,
Gripping, to be owned.
Smiling face in shanty towns,
Folks return greetings with frowns.
Passes on:
Tired gallop,
Drooping gait, heavy stirrups,
But head held high,
Himself his own, no one nigh,
Goes this pilgrim, unbound.
hmmm, poignant yet understandably aloof. This has been you for many years but slowly you are shirking that cloak of solitude's resignation for a much more fulfilling place on life's stage. Evolution is a wondrous thing even when its displayed one man at a time. smiles, I'm just glad I know this particular said man at this moment in time. from one poet to another your ink's blood will never be tainted. Oh, and one last thing the woman in me absolutely adores the line 'Gripping , to be owned' That sort of jumps out at a person. What can I say? I stand yet again transfixed by your beautiful word plumage............you know who..........so why type it!