The wandering Poet,
so wild—so free
With each mile walked,
a new reverie
Eight Muses to guide him,
his steps fall in line
Their prophecy calling,
their message sublime
The wandering Poet,
won’t stop till he’s done
All motion incessant,
all verse zero-sum
His trail can be seen,
by those willing to climb
Their destiny’s marked,
—their pasts left behind
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)