Crossing borders

In 2001 I found myself in Portland with a little bit of weed, a pack of smokes, and a glass pipe...and an address and phone number for a buddy. Those items were priceless to me. They ment more to me then the backpack that carried everything I had in this world. But I began to think about things that actually ment more but that I didn't possess. It's a true story, called crossing borders.

In Santa Fe and San francisco,
The church bells ring
Before the ashes smolder on
The pavement.
It is a beautiful sound,
As I lay in Portland,
Acknowledging the swears and cuss
I offered all the way here.

Outside the bus terminal,
Old men told lies.
One of their tales touched my ear.

"Your an illegal?"
"Yes".
"Aren't u afraid someone will report you"?
"No".
His eyes grasp u before he walks away.

In my mind, I see him
Crossing borders with his dreams in toe.
And I wish in some way
That I had such a worthy cause.