Bus Ride to the Edge of the World

The sunrise to my back,

the open horizon before me,

a story, barely written but well-known,

flying around my shoulders. 

The words and their melodies

and meanings keep the company

of my wandering mind and feet. 

Time is only wasted if you don’t

know its purpose. 

This time on my hands

and heart is not

without drive and ambition. 

It is full of the rambling

dreams and desires of

a soul older than its years. 

Treasured for its need for freedom,

admired for its head-strong,

heart-sick, soulful purchase 

of a bus ticket.

Wind in my curls,

sun on my neck,

and time on my hands. 

Here’s to the ride. 


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