On My Own Terms
By John Herlihy

From New York and Shanghai, to Timbuktu,
Treasured places I visited, to name just a few.
The travel bug did infect me, my heart burns,
Still travel alone and light, on my own terms.

The fortresses of Malta, the volcanoes of Bali,
Saving for later the landlocked country of Mali.
The jungles of Sri Lanka, poor old Cyprus divided,
Islands offered mystery no other country provided.

Europe thrilled everyone who arrived in those days,
Even Luxemburg and Lichtenstein had special ways.
Venice mesmerized with the dark waters of its lagoons,
Cathedral gargoyles gazed upon the plaza like buffoons.

One miserable trip I took brought me to my knees,
Not in adoration, rather my complacency to tease.
I was rushed, attacked and robbed from behind;
Stunned, I fell to the ground with stars in my mind.

But not all travel brings unwanted consequences;
The simplest places do much to enlarge our senses.
Red poppies flood a springtime field in Western Turkey,
Rafting in Montenegro, riding in turgid waters murky.

Color will never be the same after one unexpected trip;
The clear skies of Sydney simply held me in their grip.
Blue was never so blue, white puff clouds never so white,
Sail forth into the white chasm of infinity, beyond sight.

Travel can open enlightening vistas never before imagined,
Liberated from our world in a way never before fathomed.
Pack a bag, take a deep breath, with new worlds unfolding;
Farewell to my humdrum life, I feel my heart emboldening.