Here walks the man.
Curiosity his other half.
Both danger and surprise, lurking.
He lunges onward nonetheless.
His destination unnamed.
His prerogative blowing in the wind.
Something of an enigma in his head.
Dreams, they run to the sun.
Wondering if he might ever reach;
A place without that brisk breeze;
Without the untamed sins.
Or is this just one of those things,
That blows in the wild of the wind.