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Masters of the Journey
Folder:
Misc./Exp. The smoke lifts from the ground.
Forgotten places that were seen.
Eyes full of miles and miles.
So far are hands from feet.
Trailer packed with a life.
Horses ready for flight.
Today forever here.
Tomorrow to not come.
Sand beneath cobblestone feet, so many leaves.
Air under the wing, so wet the fish.
Straps and bindings, lost to the hearse.
Visions of the wild outside used to light the way inside.
Bones found along the road and burnt in a pipe smoked by
their brethren.
Spirits seen and invisible dwelling in nowhere.
Trees ancient and having no roots following footsteps of
other trees.
Light and dark used to hide from the vicious ignorance
that allows us not to be free.
Beyond the reciprocation’s of love and hate, drifting in a
melancholic state.
The gypsy is never late.
Twisted roads within the shopping plazas.
Money made by chance, paying little heed to the
unfortunate’s circumstance.
Love known by simple gestures that are torn asunder in the
quiet breezes.
Ostracized because they do what destiny pleases.
Quietly walking out in to the wood and lying very still.
Ripping off the false skin and barring their own natural
skin.
Loving a speck of dust as they too are scattered by the
same wind.
Silently they allow their will to give in.
For now alone and free in nature a gypsy has reach life’s
end.
Benjamin K. Badgley
9/25/01
