I have heard the Siren's song.
The tan clay that bears my future, etched and dried in the sun, has been shattered, and the shards cast.
But it doesn't bother me.

The apparition, the spirit, speaks quiet words,
sentences and phrases that often go unheard and unheeded.
The loudest things are not always the wisest thoughts expressed.
Whispers, carried like leaves on the wind, more often bring truth.

Once, I heard the sound of silence
and awoke.

Desire strikes a chord on my well-tuned heartstrings, an instrument not yet played.
The sound births an ache; one to run, to hide, to be gone;
one that hurts much worse than leaving.

My journey ends on the horizon.
Highways become flat streets, then dirt roads and
nameless trails, heading West always.

I am no longer in a place;
places are in me.
The destination moves as I move,
so all that matters is the journey now.

You will follow me someday,
seeking something that transcends the known and common
as I continue onward.
I will not look back though,
in hope that you will reach your potential, and me.

We will travel with each other that day,
you and I,
together in our Wanderlust.