The road calls to me,
screams in the wind,
“Roam until your bones are dust
upon the earth.”

Leaves in the trees
once alive with chatter become silent,
descending, then decay,
with the gradual coming of autumn.

The Fall of man,
this tumultuous life shed
for the child to awaken,
re-born as a quiet traveler.

The serpeant skin,
remains on the trail,
no remorse, no longing gaze back,
forever forward, forever left behind.

I’m not meant to live idle.

My spirit may seek stillness,
but my mind is an unbroken stir.
This worn and aging body desires pain,
and the suffering seen beyond comfort.
Shedding old for new,
is the Nature of things.

Acquisition and accumulation of scars,
internal and external,
is my cherished life, defined.

Holding hope and curiosity,
endlessly within reach,
I will fiercely rebel,
and become a stain,
upon our carbon copy culture.