Wayside Song

Do you know where you’re going?
Or believe that you know?
Is there really the end there?
Is it good if it’s so?

Rushing from one point to another we are likely missing all that is in between – and this could amount to quite a lot.

So, instead of going far, let’s go deeper. Let’s take the looped mountain trail, where the road travelled becomes the purpose, the goal on its own. Where the beginning and the end is the same (rather arbitrary) point, but you see it differently when approaching it from another angle, another time. Where the farther away you go, the closer you get; where leaving means returning.

Why rush then? Let’s stray off the busy main track, and savour the seemingly familiar sights in ever so many new, delightfully surprising ways, again and again. Let’s sit by the wayside and watch the world rush past instead.



Razor sharp is the light of the morning
the sun dripping red on the shadows
so long,
the sky riding winds tell the tale of a longing
for a place with no name
and the words not yet sung
by the wayside.

Let me fall there and watch you
believing to know where you’re going
to love or fear the unknown.
Don’t wait round the bend,
leave me where I’m content
with my road of no purpose
making one on my own.

I’ll gather my brushwood,
the wisdom of dead centuries,
two black pearls will do for a flint
I’ll watch sparkles outnumber
all shooting stars falling
prey to the mermaids
who’ll wear them and sing
in the moonlight
till your hope is all gone
till you fear there’s no real way of knowing
that a new day will dawn.

I won’t wish, won’t pretend
just welcome the end
of my road of no purpose
that will have been one
One on its own.