The wandering poet now takes to the road,
Skippin’ and hoppin’ like an expectant toad.
Back home on the highway where he’s lookin’ spry,
Followin’ his own footsteps, what a happy guy.
Leavin’ behind all those days now dead and gone,
He’s ready to lift mountains, feelin’ the brawn.
To uncover all the mysteries of the road that might be,
To awaken the sleeping spirit of the traveler free.
With no carry-on baggage, always travellin’ light,
Only the distant horizon now focused in his sight.
If he could take only one thing on this new journey,
Do you have any idea what that might possibly be?
An open heart, his free spirit, with the power to open,
The hidden door of imagination as his magic token.
How wonderful it must be to live the life you live. Many times you have taken me on a vacation (with your words) and not even known I was there! 'Very much enjoyed!!
I feel these words marching stubbornly within me, while on my own road en route to discover the self in nature minus worldly distractions. I love the image of mountains lifted and the imagination's door as a magic token. The latter echoing the words of Albert Einstein: "The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge, but the imagination." Congratulations on your vivid imagination.
I love magic tokens especially when they are small and can fit in the palm of your hand. When we travel light, we need not worry about what we leave behind. Soar on dear poet, on the wings of hope, I am sure your muse will never disappoint you no matter where you travel to. Thanks for sharing, hugs xo
The 'hidden door of imagination' can, at times, when found, be a fickle passageway. Especially when the Muse is cajoling you to go in a new, unexplored, direction. Light as a feather this poem. Enjoyed. rlc
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Love ya!
Jane
Ron
The hidden door.