Wanderlust

With a gypsy soul the rebel rolls along the road that goes between sea and stone. Free to roam this land alone until he finds his home. The cold bones of winters tomb urged this heart to search for room. Room to run, to breathe, to move. Room and board where sea meets shore and waters roar to drown the sound of silence. Waves break with unrelenting violence to make way for peace. A cosmic sigh of relief. Reaching toward the sky with the trees he seeks release from the lie that forms a divide between he and birds and beasts.

He and you and me.

-Vagrant Saint

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