The Vagabond's Song

You sit near the milestone that marks the bend.
Your sore feet cry for the journey's end.
You get a cup of coffee for the open road,
Relaxing your hold on the memories stored.

The past sticks on like chewing gum.
The more you struggle,the messier it becomes.
Better by far to let it hang on.
Some extra baggage, like the rose's thorn.

You break and you form,like mercury drops.
Your feelings are only dispensable props
But all that's left when the play is cleared,
Are the discarded props- the feelings you feared.

Prayer consoles, but what is prayer?
Begging to something we don't know is there.
The litany drugs us into fevered sleep,
A dream of destiny in delirious deeps.

The core is suspended in eternal strife.
Existence or living on the edge of a knife?
Where do you go? Who waits for you there?
Is there a Destiny? Or just hot air?

The paper cup is tossed away,
You've drunk some life, and what's there to say.
The coffee was good the service was sad,
But altogether it wasn't so bad.

You stand near the milestone that marks the bend,
Your eyes seeking the journeys end.
But not just yet, there's more to go.
More bets to place, more oats to sow.