Wandering poet

I wrote my name in the city dust.

As I watched it fade with every gust.

Now back where wheat fields kiss the sky,

I trace my past in sandy sighs.

The wind still knows the songs I sang,

despite the city’s echo stays.

dirt still thatched to where my life stand,

A voice that’s lost in sky's sweting haze.

I spoke in neon, sharp and bright.

Chased flashing dreams as I wish to sleep tight.

Oh here, the hush of rustling leaves

Speaks softer truths the accepting heart believes.

The barn still stiff, governed not by thy laws,

The porch light flickers, calling me back home.

Yet I strandle uhmm... a ghost of who I was

Stand torn between the stars and stone.

One foot in wheat, one foot in steel...

left heart that longs and Right heart that heals.

Do I chase the lights or love the land?

Will I return to where I stand?

Will I be buried in my own sand?

For once, the fields had held my fate

But city glass had called my name.

Now I return, but not the same.

I am a wandering poet lost between two gates.