Wednesday, July 7, 2010


I use to be a wanderer.
There was freedom in my feet.
I walked the ground of wilderness
Froze by the winter frost
Or muddied by the overspill
From everlasting springtime rain.

I trudged through broken cities
Over glass and casted off souls,
Between the monuments of men
Who slaved in high-rise towers
And thought that they were kings.
I’ve stepped between the raindrops
Amid a thousand falling tears
That wash these allegoric alleys,
Across the literature of years.

I’ve crossed those dreamscape boulevards
Full of screaming streaming cars
As well as dusty wagon ruts
On someone’s long forsaken field.
I’ve hiked the trails of history
The craters, heights and dates
Until I walked out of the past
And became a part of it.

You walk this earth for long enough
It starts to wear you down.
Little pings and twinges
Like wars and dirty deeds
Sap away enthusiasm
For man’s material mind
And call you to a higher plain


Morning said...

take advantage of freedom in your feet,

wandering through nature, how divine.

loved your entry,

Happy Poetry Picnic,
Happy Thanksgiving.


Kay said...

Thanks for taking me along. I love the charm of your writing. It's so significant.