Golden Rainbows

This is a sonnet I wrote last year. As you may know, sonnets are ridiculously hard to write (unless you write them in a remotely lyrical language such as French or Italian and not in English, which should be described as language vomit).
*NB I am in no way against the people who stole from several various languages to create our beautiful words....

With jazz filled air of flickering born days,
A vagabond of wanton existence.
Golden rainbows arcing to show the ways,
Of unbridled living, view the distance.
The mountains which beckon like an old prayer,
Leading to journeys, eyes that brightly glowed.
But what of home and sane voyages there?
Not breathing and thinking the sweeping road.
With quiet times and a white picket fence,
Mediocrity in his travelled eyes,
The wandering vagabond does now sense,
The lifestyle in which he became disguised.
Crossroads of life from traveller to travelled,
Insight of which his mind has unravelled.