‘The road called me’

The road called me

I’m tire, so damn tired.

Somehow I got lost. I looked into the mirror and I see a bloody stranger.
A ghost of a man I once was. I’m tire of people who have no concern for me.
Just blood suckers stealing my blood and life.

I saw men lay down and died often in my life. Sometime the gun is faster than the slow death. I was a soldier once and I knew freedom one.

In sweet dreams. I danced, sang, drank and owned nothing but my old truck. I was free of people with fake smiles and worked you till you become dead.

I bleed for people daily who watch me die daily. They do not care for the real reasons of life. Work, work and work some more. They steal your soul and do not give a damn about you.

I’m tire, so damn tire.

I hear the road calling. I want the free people and long highway.
I need a dozen years by the sea and the forest. Drink in my Ojibwa blood.
Today I’m no-one. Dead-man walking.

I need Big Surf and a tent. To drink with musicians, writers, surfers and the poets.
Leave the fake goals and cell phones behind.

I need conversation and a worthwhile cause. If I die today.
What will they say Johnnie was? Just a donkey who left his world worst off than he got.
This is very sad.

The road is calling me and kind people offered me places to rest.
The donkey is too weak to move.
I’m tire, so damn tire.

Coyote/John Castellenas