Learning How To Pray Poem by Smoky Hoss

With a pack of Lucky Strikes
and a bucking bronc tattoo on my arm,
early one morning
I walked a mile to the road, hitched a ride
and left the farm-

I was only 17.
Not much money, kinda green,
but I had more dreams than my head could hold,
I knew I had to leave
before my heart grew up, cold and old-

I just felt
I had to go away,
try to find the words
I needed to say,
see the sun, listen to the wind,
and learn how to pray-

Spent a few years here and there,
tried everything, went everywhere;
saw the inside of the country,
for better or for worse;
learned how to work, how to hurt
and how to curse-

But, sooner or later
a man gets tired, from searching
for answers to questions he doesn't know,
comes a time he finds
he's just got to up and grow-

So I left the road
and layed down the dream,
got a job, a wife and a house,
the whole "do-what's-right-scene"-

The years came and went,
before I could blink, half my life was spent;
now here, with age, I find
those old questions coming back to mind;
I'm way past 17 now,
never could hold onto money,
but those old dreams all remain somehow.

It may sound funny,
but I find myself looking down the road,
thinking again,
about getting up to go;
one more time, just go away,
try to find
those words, I still need to say,
see the sun... listen to the wind,
and finally, truly learn how to pray...