I read somewhere,
If you can't sleep at night
It's because
You are awake
In someone else's dream...
and Now I Know
Why I am
Still wandering
In the hour
When the night breaks away
from the day
and the orange streaks
Paint the sky with color
My Dear!
Can you stop dreaming of me?

Visually enriched individuals; you flee where you wish to, and close your eyes with the view last in mind.
Nationwide and far away; you meet peoples whom I only read about in books and see diversity in another world.
I wish I could say that I didn't envy you. But I really do;
For sure I have some beloved locations, for sure I meet my family, but in this particular case I'm an empty body, to wish something, I should fear being silenced.
My mind stores it all;
I've engraved the mountains in my head and locked them tightly in my memories, I remember faces, prices, expressions and sounds, my senses get perplexed in a really good way.
I hope to flee and not complain.

That flat or apartment you live in
Is called a house,
That someone you live with
Makes it home.
So if you wander with that "someone" by you,
You'll be a wanderer with a home.

A lost hungry vagrant
on a train to nowhere
everywhere's his home

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     on a patch of hay
     in the heat of day
     he doesn't bother to get
     on his knees and pray

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          everything he wants
          is in his sweat and blood
          the shirt on his back
          and his matter of fact

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                                     ­          no one can touch his
                                               solitary freedom
                                               even when burdened with chains
                                               and in heavy rains

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                    he flies through time
                    known by himself
                    on a patch of hay

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        in an empty, lonely cart
        on a train to nowhere
        wandering the face of the earth

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yearning for Starlight💫

It’s really, truly morbid, how my vehicle came to me,
Twas’ the death of a friend of a friend of a friend
Of a friend who was close to thee
He was dead when I got your keys.  
I find that I’m quite infatuated, by your shining, crimson flair  
And your window that squeaks, and your faux leather seats,  
Stained carpets and central air
Who knew trucks could be debonair?  
Shall I name all life’s pains that mean naught in you?
Like that person who says, and then he says, and she says
They all say, and then it is true
So, I drive to find new points of view.
We will thrive on gasoline fumes and the human will
Until the ground is ****** dry and wells shot
Till then, freedom, adventure, and hidden hills
Will be ours, you and I, Bombadil.