Forgotten Traveler
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.
Copyright © Emily Asaif | Year Posted 2011
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