With a pack of Lucky Strikes
and a bucking bronc tattoo on my arm,
early one morning
I walked a mile to the road, hitched a ride
...
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Smoky, I enjoyed this easy-flowing meditation. Lucky Strikes were my father's brand before he quit smoking after thirty-years. On money, in my case, I haven't been motivated by it much. And I've found I'm better at making money last than making money. On learning to pray, that's an ongoing thing, yes? Be/stay well, brother. -Glen
Beautiful. Something we all want to do. One more time might just do it. Love your poetry Smoky.
Did you tell your folks you were leavin' or didja just leave 'em greavin'?
Forgot to mention in my other comment: This is a great poem!
Alone again? Sorry to hear that, Pard, We all need someone to love and to love us back. Might be fun to hit the road again and see some sights you haven't seen, but you have hit on the most important thing (the title of your poem) .
Thats a good poem. I suspect it is not how to pray that you need finality. Its prolly something else.
'but I had more dreams than my head could hold' And this is so common with a seventeen year old! :)