WILD

Let's cut to the chase
and accept she's wild.
The pleasure is in her pursuits,
and her victories, in the mind.
She's incomparably adequate,
she's one of a kind.
The test of time her witness,
in weakness, peace she finds.
Her strength's golden,
her misgivings blind.
She wins when she wants to,
she puts her failures behind.

Let's cut to the chase
and accept she's wild.
Wild like the flowers,
wild like the fruits of the wild.
Wild like the lions,
wild like the cubs in the jungle .
She's wild like the cheetah,
catch you fast before you even cheat her.
She's wild like the deer, oh dear,
graceful and full of peace.
She's as wild as that tree that blossoms in the winter,
wild as that stream that flows in the desert,
wild as that storm that rages in the ocean,
getting whatever it wants and
getting rid of whatever's in its way.

Let's cut to the chase
and accept she's wild.
She's wild because the world is wild.
She yearns to embrace it, the world is wide.
Her ambition is priceless,
her motivation timeless.
She's wild because she has to.
Too much to live for,
yet too little a time to live it for.
She has to be wild..
See, the world is cold,
if you're mining for it's gold.
She has to win,
she wants to win.
But to win, she has to fight.
To fight, she has to be wild.

Let's cut to the chase
and accept she's wild...
we have no other option.
She's beauty and brains,
how wild could it get.
The weight of the world on her shoulder,
is the backpack with her books
as she goes to school.
To learn the art,
to finesse her walk out of this wilderness.
She's wild for the night,
she's wild for the day.
Whatever you say, she's wild.
Has been, is and will be,
till she gets that crown on her,
her beautiful head.
Wild, yes, she's wild.

The traveller's soliloquy

I walk a traveller on this road,

on this road that has been carved,

that has been carved in wood,

in wood and has been drawn,

been drawn on a canvas,

on a canvas, worn out yet new,

yet new of experiences,

experiences of tomorrow's painting,

tomorrow's painting, of tomorrow's footprints,

tomorrow's footprints of a traveller.

Footprints of a traveller, my footprints.

My footprints for I am that traveller.

My feet are full of dust, my shoes worn out,

my knees are weak, but strengthened,

by the wind I walk against, the rains I dance in,

the storms I run into, enlightening me with lightnings,

of acknowledgment, of approval..

Discouragements have been tides,

I've rose above, ridden over.

Disappointments have been trips,

I've taken aboard my spaceship,

but never tripped on them.

So now like Johnny I have to keep walking,

I have to keep stalking my dreams,

stroking my guitar strings,

as I sing myself hoarse into the greys of the nights.

Walking the talk, has never been harder.

Miles into my journey, the less I talk,

the less I have to prove.

The more I talk, the short I fall under.

Am human. I stink of mistakes,

almost as much, the scent of my victories.

It's a mystery.

For a journey with a history,

not as sweet as honey,

living days for tomorrow,

leaving stress and sorrow,

behind.. Solving puzzles,

walking through mazes,

and still, am I there yet?

When will this be over?

When will I walk and look not over my shoulders?

When will I walk and look to see the holder?

Of the prize of the walk at the end of the journey?

And we will sit by the bonfire,

reflections of yesterday woven into our conversations,

for what is life spent without motivation?

What is light bent without a refraction?

A beneficiary of a life well lived?

I'll keep walking till I get there.

For no other option have I;

I am a traveller.