weightless

my backpack weighs eleven pounds, 
and i have walked a life
escaped from promises and hounds,
have sharpened mind and knife,

stopped hiding in the plainest sight, 
untied my heavy boots
and left with vision that i might
get rid of attributes

found places empty to arrive,
the ones too hard to reach,
since i am very much alive
and very young to preach,

for lessons i have paid with mud
that covered me to head
escaped the gods to be a god
among the living dead

so when we’re talking, you should know:
you’re technically rich
look at the stones you left below
eleven lifetimes each

i hope you’ve come to be no fool
and leave no trace or scar
remember: there is no rule.
i’ll see you at the bar