I've asked myself often,
Why am I here? Whats my purpose?
And in moments of madness when the rising sun is mine and I alone can grasp the clouds and shape the light.
In those groggy half-steps off a bus in Somewhere, America, where the stars grip the horizon and the incandescent glow of a sleeping city bleeds into the twilight,
I always find my answer.

I am here,
To ride until I am passed out on strange shoulders as tired and tense as my own.
To be rained out and washed up against gas station sanctuaries.
To be a friendly face to those who know only a few in this sea of tight lips and laser focused eyes.

I am here,
To tear cotton candy skies into road maps to there.
To pull light into the darkness and turn these chains into prisms that splash color into the void.
To rip out stitches just to see the blood because there is no beauty without pain and perception is everything.

I am here..
To find the small things.
To indulge in a microcosm of bliss.
A fresh sandwich on the highway.
Five dollars passed from a strangers hand.
A cadillac cigarette.
The whispering of trees,
Distant rolling thunder.

The road owns my soul and a devil has possessed my feet.
I am here to cast my own blend of fire into the world.
I am here,
To wander.