On Momentariness

On Momentariness

This place, the wild, for a moment is my house.

It's not mine, nor will it ever be, but,

for now, it's kind of the only place I got.

It's not large, but have plenty of room for thought,

plenty room for me, and everything I own.

And when I'm sharing it with you, that's when I call this place my home.


And those people that I'm passing, they will never know my name.

They will never know my past, my wins, they have never seen me fail.

So I can sing out loud funny, I can also stink like hell,

it doesn't matter what you think.

It doesn't matter who you'd tell

about the smelly hiker who can't sing,

because you never caught his name.


And we'd be weirdly skipping silly,

and they would stare and smile,

but we'd be getting so much joy for they won't be there in a while.

And we'd be left to walk alone,

the sun replaced by stars above.

Then you'd be saying with that tone:

"it's late, let's walk home my love".


Then  sun ignites routine of morning,

protecting nature like a child,

and in a flash, we'll be returning,

what once was home, back to the wild.