The Wanderer

He has no equal in virtue

Except for every other being on the planet Earth

And probably beyond

He has no equal in debauchery

Except for the strangers that take his name

He claims to be a wanderer

Lost and content

Aimless and restless

But mostly he just lies around

Lying around is serious business though

He must find shelter from the elements,

Resist the hunger and thirst that drive him to move,

Open himself to nothing

Occasionally he sprints

Only to find himself at a cliff or deadend

More exhausted than before

So he sits and breathes instead

The seasons grow more extreme for him

With every year that passes

The winters turn more frigid

The summers turn more blistering

Sometimes he walks with others

They enjoy the change of pace

They think, "What a guru!"

"He who takes life so slow surely knows a better way!"

But eventually the others find

A lethargic life does not hold peace

Always at ends with the world

For the best piece of shade

Looking back to find

No progress has been made