Wanderlust

Far away the road beckons,
But a twisted strip of metal
Glinting in the light of the setting sun.
Alluring and ever tempting,
The way to a thousand dreams.

A thousand voices, clamouring to be heard.
A thousand lives; a thousand tales
Hidden under the paving stones,
Written in the dust of a thousand feet
That, over the years, have passed on their way.

Home, safety, security’s shining shackles,
So tightly locked, to keep in place,
To hold imprisoned, forever,
A wanderer’s spirit,
Chafe my skin, draw my blood.

The lure of the road,
An eternal siren song, ever lurking
In the dark recesses of my mind,
Colours my dreams,
Tinges my days with never-fulfilled longing.

The humdrum monotony of daily life,
Meaningless, mechanical chores,
Stifling, senseless work.
What life is this, when, in twenty years,
Not one day have I truly lived?

The sweet beckoning of far-off lands,
The heady call of adventures,
Draw me away this dark night,
Ever whispering in my ears, of
Laurel wreaths and golden treasures.