Every legend starts with a wanderer.

A man with no map, no crown, no audience —

just a stubborn heartbeat and a road that refuses to end.

This is the Bastard before the myth,

the drifter who learned to make peace with the wilderness

because the world never offered him a home

A drifter of sorts, 
with no woman to court. 

 
No legacy to boast, 
reputation to roast 
 
 

A simpleton some would give name 
To the man lacking in fame. 

 
Searching for a home on a path less traveled, 
accepting the journey no matter how it unravels. 

 
 
He doesn’t thrive on glorious praise, 
nor will he benefit from a society’s craze. 
 

So, he searches amongst nature for the wisdom he seeks. 

 
He thrives from the seeds now ready to reap. 
 
 

During the times he feels most alive, 
he turns to the stars-they light the darkest of skies. 
 

A child born to wonder with no tether in sight. 
 

He fears no man nor threat of a fight. 
 
Having nothing to lose but everything to gain, 
now as a man, he's grown resistant to pain. 

 
He feels only peace and lives alone. 
In a marvelous wilderness few have known. 
 
When Death comes calling for the man by name, 
it shall find the two are one in the same. 

 
And on his tombstone, it shall be plastered, 

 
Here lies the one known,

As The Rambling Bastard.