May is Over               by heyday 

May is over now, it’s gentle rain dried up in the the brightness of the promised summer that led me like a trusting child into these autumn days to be abandoned to the coming winter. I can almost hear the slamming of the doors of your carefully barricaded house.

I feel the chill winds as I am surrounded by the crowds who envelope me with the hustle and bustle of endless pursuits even as I stand isolated from them in a shroud of contemplative thought. It‘s as if it‘s those very thoughts that are inherently me that renders me as transparent, a non-entity. Or perhaps those inner drives act in some way as a misty shroud hiding me in plain view? At any rate, they see me not.

Lonely in my soul, I walk the city streets separated from the throngs who care not of mysteries of being or concepts of esoteric pathways, nor anything else of importance to the inner being, as such matters tend to conflict with the base energies that drive the masses as some mechanical device implemented and constructed to serve the well being of an elite few.

Men in business suits, sharp dressed ladies priding themselves upon the political clout they wield, athletes, students, teachers, intellectuals, the illiterate, common laborers, and criminals and wino’s, and junkies, panhandlers, tramps, and vagabonds all mingle around me united in a world that fits me not.

Though I might stand out from any group, from the upper educated echelons to the street gangsters, I’m never really noticed, never considered, or visibly disdained. And even if I do converse easily about a multitude of topics shallowly relevant to those with whom I speak, I must hold my tongue about what I contemplate of truth .To do otherwise would be to render a veil upon them, so that their eyes cloud and they turn away abruptly to begin a new topic with another, as though I might be invisible. As if I too am revealed to be one of those reprehensible little contemptuous nagging irritations cloaked so carefully in  comfortable blindness.

Is that what you, too, have done in the safety of your crowd as you abandoned me here all alone?

Lonely though I be, it’s not for me to assail your castle walls.

Nay, no such assault may be properly made, no matter my anguish that my last petition was dismissed without a hearing, without a thought. No, not even if I alone see the coldness for both of us in the winter ahead. And though it be true that I was wrongfully accused and convicted , it must also be held that I, as seeker of truth, was in love at first lie! Another lesson learned, more growth to carry me down those lonesome trails I must travel.

And though I was painfully and arbitrarily dismissed as your knight who you might journey with in the direction I so wanted to take, I must turn away from you and any harvest you may make.For it is written.

Yet, even now, it would be true, that if I had a time machine  you would hear the call of a salty breeze and we would fly away away together as I sang you a special bird song! A song you can’t hear because you turned off the music with the flick of a switch.

And so, instead, I turn away to wander alone to travel the dusty trails you abandoned. And If I ascend craggy peaks hidden in misty shrouds that blanket you and the crowds from elusive threads of wisdom , and I get to savor a tapestry weaved fresh and new, found as THE glittering jewel of a benevolent Creator that became lost and hidden under the patina of the ages, then you will not be with me to share the awe.

I am boondocker. You see me not.