From A truck stop in New Jersey


From the east with my thumb out I did roll, headed west with no plan and out of control. Traveling and running so young and so lost, looking for something not knowing the cost. There were hills, there were valleys, there was calm, there were storms there were times I questioned my existence, why it was that I was born. When I left I had nothing and I returned with the same, but my soul was deep and different, the long road was to blame. Sometimes I am a poet and at times I am a fool, sometimes I am a wise old man just drowning in life’s pool. I take a look around me and the road that I have paved, all the good intentions and I wonder what it was that I saved. What was the mark of my existence, what will I leave behind? What will perish with my life blood what will stand the test of time? Lessons I have imparted, on the souls of those I have touched. How much was too little and how much was too much? 

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