Vagabond (revisited)

 

  

He might be Woody Guthrie or Jack Kerouac

hopping trains or thumbing his way down the road

searching for a soul

bathing in desert stars around a campfire

raging against the machine with the ghost of Tom Joad

you can spot his aimlessness by that mangy, tattered look

he’s the guy along the side of the road you didn’t pick up

the reason you avoid truck stops

He’s the graffiti on the side of a boxcar passing in the rain

fresh footsteps in new fallen snow disappearing into the woods

the one in the garden of sound striking a Jesus Christ pose

he reminds of freedom and he’s the reason you dream of leaving

When times become tight he finds solace in a bone orchard

revisiting memories of old friends

taking refuge under the cover of the moon

and when road stake runs low

his conscious never wavers from following the code

He’s a vagabond on the roll trekking far and wide

seeking anything he can find  to heal a fractured soul

on a black river of disconnection he rides

an asphalt ribbon carrying him from Smokey Mountains to Denver

across red desert sands where grains are fused like glass

reflecting back this flight as destiny slips through his hands

When storms come he seeks higher ground

winding through mountain peaks where shamans dwell

shedding his load in temples where secrets of ancients can be found

Possible futures silhouetted against a perpetually moving horizon

his driving thirst to push on, find answers that lay beyond

has only been whetted

so this vagabond rides into a tangerine sky

into destinations unknown, so many days on the run

too many days he has spent

chasing the sun