October 20th, 2017
Poetry isn't really something I sit down and write. If words come, then they come. And if it pertains in any way to wanderlust, I'll post it here.
A Man Who Saunters
We can abandon time temporarily
In the crowds that ebb and the sounds that flow
Immediate thoughts, all that was and will be
I am in strange places yet always at home
Not becoming trapped by circumstance
But liberated by its great tyranny
A spectator, watching the world dance
Solitude in masses surrounding me
No plans, just life, no future, just now
The world is a canvas, I paint with my feet
Art is a part of this mundane town
And wisdom paves these concrete streets
Each man, each woman, each child
Contains a world full of knowledge I seek
I escape my head and enter theirs for a while
And life seems now not so bleak
Blistered toes in worn down boots
Unshaven chin and tired eyes
Holes and stains in my tailored suit
'Til next time, friends, 'til next time
Writers of Wrongs
The wanderer, the wanderlust
I wonder if time waits for us
Nicotine stained and beer soaked
Hostel bed, though I don’t smoke
I like a hot a sun and a cold drink
I like to write and I like to think
Everyone I meet is far too busy
Too busy to think about being happy
We all inhabit a private world
As the bedroom door shuts, the lights go out
Drifting through life, for what, what ifs
Who keeps score of our misses and hits
Time moves too quick, though life is too long
We can condense it down to a dance, a song
Mounting our horses and moving along
We’re the keepers of piece and the writers of wrongs
Wisdom That Burns
Do our personalities clash
Or is there enough there to keep us together?
Are we too distant only in space
Or also in mind and individual endeavour?
Do we have ourselves a future
When we don't even have a now?
Do you accept I'm a temporary illusion of self
When in you lies an immortal soul?
Am I too cold, too cynical and glib
To accept an avalanche of unwanted empathy?
Or am I just right to provide peace of mind
In a dark world of pursuing insanity?
Do I ask too many questions
That even your one true God cannot answer?
Do I move too fast, too chaotically
To bring you with me on this adventure?
Whatever lies ahead
There is wisdom that burns in us both
For everything that you have said
Makes me stronger, brings me hope.
I Am Not a Tree
I lose myself in crowds, so that there's space to think aloud,
Oh how did I get here, and how do I get out?
I am not wearing chains and yet I feel bound,
Listen how my heartbeat meets the shaking of the ground.
Now in deserts and in mountains, there's an eeriness about, and
We feel insignificant so our minds fill out with doubts,
But let's lay our weapons down, forget infidelities of your mouth,
Because like birds we are free in the cold and dark to travel south.
And I am not a tree, I am not rooted to the ground,
I will travel for free, until you are not around,
But do not follow me and don't you make a sound,
This is my life, I will live it and all I've got is now.
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