The path is the same;
Same crisscross of black
And churned up river bed,
The crash of the trees
And distant symphonies
Of trains, of traffic,
As I take each step.

Booted feet shine with dew
And I think of you.

Was it here? This patch?
This green and yellow halo
Shines dully, idly
And I think I can see that night.
Not like its clear
Or that you're here,
A mirage of some other you
Some other me.

They're echoes,
They shout beneath the bridge
Scream up at the bricks
And let it echo
Echo.

That other me
Stranger in this suit of now
Did love and laugh
And cling,
Every little thing was kept
Even worthless poetry,
Those naive ode's to love.

I remember it was cold
And I was slimmer, thinner,
Cut away and wispy
In the chill.
And you,
Were you.
I probably don't know you now
And never will.
Our worlds are fleeting
Changing like seasons
And in cliche frays get
Blown into non-existance.

A stranger promised
And clung
And wept.

But I am now
Fitted and anchored
Not melancholy
And melodramatic,
Whimsical of a time
That I rhymed
In a desperate attempt
At the nostalgic.

That was then
And I'm not yours.
Not anymore.

Workers boots are full of voices
Melodies and words
Never sung, never spoken
Never written
Just steel toed and ordinary.

Put them on
Tie a knot
Workers boots are heavy,
Heavy with ordinary.

Workers boots are full of dreams
Incredible things
They go by unknown,
Unlived and outgrown
Filed away for ordinary.

Put them on
Tie a knot
Workers boots are heavy,
Heavy with ordinary.

The world awaits
And I travel side by side
Where weary steps
Did mark the ground anew
Sunrises to sunsets.
Patron saint
Of wandered worlds
Colours dark and light,
My feet
My hands
Know foreign day
Know of foreign nights.
To see each land
Soil and sand
Lives changed along the way
Tis why I walk
Tis why I leave
Because the world awaits.

We're so broken inside
that we're suspicious of
everything that makes us happy.

Adventurer, my adventurling,
Wandering the wild woods of newness,
Fern fresh. Smells unknown
To a nose
That knows nothing of wet leaves
And undergrowth,
Mulch that dampens in the rain,
Mossed rock soppy and soaked
With age.
Novice to the backpack, outback,
Untracked tracks on unspoiled paths.
****** to the bluest eyes
Cut softly, gently, waterly
By lakes of mountains,
Lakes of skies.
Mirror to the heavens
The untrodden, barren, open wasteland full of light.
Touch toes to ancient rocks,
Reach hands to ancient stars
And know, that as old and wandered
As you are,
They will always be new.