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Creative is the mind of this traveler
lost soul amungst the earth
given a second set of rules and standards 
since my day of birth 

not known for my talent 
tho art i do possess 
cause no one really cares 
when they smell the liquer on ur breath. 

I saw him on the 5:15 
his hat brim pulled down low 
his scruffy rugged unshaven face 
revealed more "hidden" pain then i think hed like to show 

i sat down there beside him 
where no one dared to be 
extending my hand toward him 
as he reached his out towards me. 

She had a kind gentle soul 
it burned deep within her eyes 
she sat down there beside me 
much to my surprise 

we exchanged simple formalities 
i thought that all to be 
then this brown eyed smiling little girl 
began to question me. 

"Where ya headed?" i asked the stranger 
in a soft and easy tone 
he peered up from beneath his hat 
and replyed "im headed home"

i didnt have to poke or prod
he began to tell me more
"these old bones have seen the world 
they're tired and they're sore.

Ive been to arizona
walked for miles in the heat
but parched mouth was well worth it
to feel the canyon beneath my feet

ive been to new york city
lived there for quite a bit
heart set to be a famous artist
but never did make it rich." 

He reached into his jacket
and pulled out a hidden flask
swigged away his memmories
then continued before i could ask

"and ive been to washington
flown to the cape and maine
thumbed to mississippi, new orleans,
most say that im insane."


"youve been to all these amazing places
traveled coast to coast
but of all the beds uve layed ur head 
where do you like to be the most?"

He pondered for a moment
stareing blankly into space
then he turned his head towards me
eyes looking over every inch of my face

"i do believe of all the seas, of all the sights ive seen
of all the mountain ranges, and every vallie green 
of every city street mural with a story to be told
of any northern light show with clors vivid bright and bold
and of any sun in santa fe that feels 1000 degree
i do believe ive never felt more at home than i do rite now with you and me."

The bus slowed to a stop 
and the driver called the street
reached out his hand for a goodbye 
as simple as our greet 

the scent of whisky lingered
well after he had went away
and the story of a forgotten traveler
sticks with me still today.
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