Lost man’s journey or true adventures wonder.

what i cant find is what i cant see

Blind man, sour man, gone man.

 

I am the Traveler

The one who does not stay in one place,

who stays without a trace

yet longs for a home.

He does not stay for long like a paper cut in between fingers.

Stings but not for long.

Why cant he stand to stay?

 

Is it the people?

He knows once the journey resumes, they forget him

Some don’t but who writes to a man on the road?

 

Is it the places?

With such exotic beauty and diversity decay

He does not like to become a statue in such a state.

Not left to stain the ways of where he is when he could be away.

 

What is it then?

 

I am the traveler,

I move because i don’t want to be entombed,

by the people and their places.

I hate to be the stain that can not be cleaned. 

I wish to tend to my fires and have them come to me.

Its pure that way.

I give them my knowledge, in return they nurture me, feed me nourishment

So that i may travel wider and further 

To build fires for others to gather around, to kindle stories 

 

I became the traveler, 

to ease the minds

calm the hearts

and to carry on.

 

I am the traveler, for the love of the journey.