If you have attempted to fit whatever mold and failed to do so, you are probably lucky. You may be an exile of some sort, but you have sheltered your soul. -- Clarissa Pinkola Estes




'What you do for yourself alone dies with you ... what you do for others and the world remains and is immortal.' Albert Pike, Philosopher







The lone traveler seen along the miles;

Is so often void of smiles.

He travels alone and he goes far;

Endlessly following a shooting star.

Leather boots are tread bare worn;

Dingy clothes in many places torn.

In his pocket, a wallet dirty and tattered;

All remains of a life scattered.

Locks of hair on his head tousled;

Along the way you know he's been jostled.

Eyes Darken to the color of blue-grey steel;

Contemplating, as though this can't be real.

Hoarse words and speech patterns rambled;

More than likely thoughts scrambled.

Deep wrinkles crisscross his face;

Permanently etched of a life to trace.

His stench will make you wince;

But remember, he was once somebody's prince.

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