Another Millennium

I was born an ordinary rock,

Appearing on a well-traveled road.

Some admired, picked me up,

One used me to kill a toad.

A stranger placed me in their court

As décor for their garden path…

Some discovered my real beauty,

Submerged in a water bath.

One day a non-observer,

Stepped on me and broke his foot…

I was tossed into the fire,

Totally black with soot.

Centuries later, weed pullers

Thought me a clod no good…

Culled me out of the garden

Throwing me back in the wood.

Now I gather moisture,

I share with a close by Trillium…

I may never be seen again

For perhaps another millennium.

Nomadic Dream

 

I am almost in a wheelchair,

Still I have the nomad’s dream…

Wanting to circle the planet,

Alongside every peaceful stream.

I want to avoid the cities,

The pollution and the people…

The politics and the religion,

Every capitol and steeple.

I want to witness the kindness,

The impoverished have to give,

Interview the dying elders,

Why they have the will to live.

I want to ask the nomads,

As they continue to roam.

Is the world such a wonderful place,

Or do they long to find a home?

Exploring the world on foot,

Is also a search for me.

Can rambling thoughts inside our heads,

Ever allow us to be free?

Road Rash

I remember falling off my skates,

And my bicycle on hot asphalt…

The pain was not just physical,

But an emotional assault.

My skin scraping off on concrete,

Tearing down to expose the bone…

Was no less painful than growing old

And having to leave my home.