The nomad's song

Speak to me of ethereal beings
whom dance between the stars
and sing under the moon.

Speak to me of shooting stars
that sneakily run across the sky
and leave nothing but joy in their wake.

Speak to me of the old man
begging in his tattered cloak
smiling through his eyes
though his old frame is shattered.

Don't speak to me of minding
my sorry old "p's and q's "
for I won't!

I refuse to be chained down
by your tidy chaos.

I don't want your validation
I will not be the consort
to your little picket-fence dream.

No my dear, call to me
from the wild crags of mexico
and the brilliant rays of the north
from the great walls of china
and the dungeons of men long dead

Speak to me dear friend
of how your life was a magic mirror
that was led astray on a joy-ride to wonderland

tell me sweet one, why that fire is in your eyes
what is it that made your face contort in rage
and yet soften in sheer adoration.

I don't want to hear your once upon a times
and happy ever afters

I want to taste your glory
and basque with you in your fury
and we as one will dance the nomads song.