Light purged the sorrowed highway, longing;
High-back indecent, crescent-shape waning,
Sweet nectar poured-fresh, tarnished elixir,
To Men and Gods bow not, Wayward Drifter.
Remorse has set the tempo’s guiding note,
Reprise for the Castles’ drying mote;
Burn slow on the windy Candle’s ember:
All hail the leaving o’ the Wayward Drifter.
Scraggly, reckless, longing, ever-stained;
Retrospectively to Now depraved,
There’s nothing more for nothing gained,
Like the coyote; scavenger of Day.
It is ever night in the
Irrefutable accounts chill the Bone,
And on them disgraced by Weather,
He walks undaunted, paths of no others’.
There’s a Ghost ship upon dark water waiting,
With a lone crew ghastly and fading,
Riggins, rudders; flags mangled thither:
Beware the tidings of The Wayward Drifter…
And when afloat on the ocean’s current,
No trustworthiness share’s him in torment;
Awhile in a daze and lurid stupor,
Driftwood transient from upstream wayward.