(Poem) Hard Top Junkies


 

Hard Top Junkie

I guess that’s what I am

Each day I drive this concrete sea

All my life I have spent a traveling man

Like a Gypsy with her crystal ball to see

Each day the old gray slab calls to me

Drawing all my breaths back to her again

 

Evicted from a common life

Drawn to see God’s great land

Friend or foe the old green stamp

Always has an outstretched hand

You work hard to be safe and free

Trying to feed and clothe the family

Thinking of the things I’ve done

Or the things I left for my Bride to do

So few possessions last, like relations lost

Drifting away then disappear like the setting sun

 

To all the soldiers, gypsies, bikers, and truckers

We all love our freedom, the people and the land

So sad that Big Brother tolerates no free thought

Never to be rewarded for the things we have done

Will we be confined to highways in the basement of Hell

Once our roaming is finished and our breathing is done

 

One thought on “(Poem) Hard Top Junkies

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s