In the Convertible

The destination does not matter.
The time it takes to get there,
where ever, whenever it might be.

You know this, your life is full of them.
Destinations.
Most arrived at. And left.

Sometimes for home.
Sometimes for the next destination.
In the best of times, for nowhere definite.

The destination does not matter.
It is the going. The road.The sights.
The sounds and smells of the air

as it brushes your hair and your soul.
It is the going. The longer and less familiar,
the better.

About this poem

I have spent most of my life traveling. I always think I know where I am going.

Sometimes I have been right.

Tom