The Book of Roads

At home we only read a single page,
Afraid to move the bookmark from the line.
But world is not a bird inside a cage,
It is the wind and heavens by design.

A single day away from dusty town
Will give you sight for ten long years ahead.
The wanderer may face the ups and downs,
But truth and light are in the path he treads.

The roads are beacons for a weary soul,
Not just the dust beneath the stallion’s shoe.
By mighty rivers we will find our goal,
Where sunset glows with more than life can do.

The world is vast, just like your heart inside,
The wider gaze, the brighter colors grow.
Don’t let the table of contents be your guide —
Read through the book until the end, you know.

To leave is not to flee, but look within,
To shake the routine off like road-worn grit.
In distant lands a warmer heart we win,
And leave the petty fears of home to quit.

We learn from mountain peaks and desert wind,
From random faces and the taste of wine.
The one who seeks the knowledge for his mind
Has searched himself across the plains so fine.

And though we’ll come back to the porch we knew,
To familiar walls where peace and comfort stay.
The stinging dust that on our faces blew,
Has changed us under moonlight on our way.

We’ve grown much wider, higher, and so bright,
By knowing foreign dark and our own bound.
No fate is purer or more truly right,
Than one the wanderer himself has found.