High Line

Her silver glint,

Struck the sky,

Shinin’ off the steel.

I walked along the wobbly banks,

Sinkin’ in my dreams.

The wooden ties sang a song,

Shakin’ under shoes.

I clenched my toes.

She rumbled so,

Shatterin’ silence with her wheels.

Horns sounded off,

Chugs serenaded to the clouds.

I skittered to the woods,

Lost, and not found.

Where would I run?

Perhaps, the junk train,

Creepin’ past.

I hopped on,

Surrenderin’ to landscape blurrin’ by,



Escapin’ memories left awry.

Readin’ books,

Writin’ poems,

Goin’ Home, 


Wherever I so chose…

Watchin’ life drift me by,

Drownin’ and,

A teeterin’,

In one’s fickle mind…

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Brian Cray is not a cyclist. He’s not a hitchhiker. He’s not a train hopper or an adrenaline junkie. He’s just an ordinary man with gypsy blood in his veins, who can’t seem to settle down. Nothing defines him. He goes wherever this world takes him on this journey we call life, roaming the world, at will, by any means. He aspires for a life of indefinite travel, a tiny home in the woods for him and his wife, and any work that keeps him wanderin’. Brian Cray is a travel writer at heart, sharing his stories with the world one keystroke at a time.


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