Travelers

I have traveled many roads.

They all lead to Nowhere.

I always arrive lay

my bags on the bed.

Unpack all my memories

settle down into home.

Hoping this road is the last.

Having found a place where

I am not seen as an intruder,

becoming an outcast.

Hoping to finally find

some place called Happiness.

Somehow this isn’t quite right.

Again I find my bags all packed.

Each time I lighten my load, throwing

away unused and misused items.

Only to laden them once more

with glistening new things.

There are others walking, discarding, gathering.

Some of our roads will cross

and for a time we will not walk alone.

A few will leave our road, unpack,

hang pictures, decorate.

At last finding their home.

Leaving the rest to our envy

and tired minds and bodies.

Begging to lay the weighted

bags by the side of the dusty road.

Always unable to loosen the

grip, only holding on tighter.

I travel on with them, but alone,

following a compass called Heart.

Going where it blindly leads my soul.

Accompanied by my bags and

the knowledge of another bed,

another home, another road.