Before I Die


you ask me why-

you tell me no-

“get your head out of the sky”

“it’s not right to go”


But I won’t listen to lies-

I’ve just one reason to give-

“Before I die,

I just want to live”


Wandering Roots


Is it a blessing
Or a curse
To not have a home?

Perhaps it is both.
Perhaps it is neither.

Perhaps it is an adventure.

An adventure making every place that touches your soul your home until you leave it.

An adventure that teaches –
Home isn’t a place at all.
It’s the memories you carry inside.
And the people who carry you.



Some people miss home.

But I don’t. I miss the road.

I miss the miles and minutes passing by ‘neath the melody of an engine.

I miss looking over and seeing you – sleeping, laughing, telling me stories.

I miss sunsets in Tennessee and sunrises over Chicago.

I miss scary gas stations at 3am.

I miss conversations that are as free as we are, and go on for hours.

I miss being that kind of happy.

I miss not being here.

Because out there…that’s my home.