Skip to main content

The Wandering

I watched them wander.
Watched them live about their days.
They were the wanderers and they wandered.
They were the deceased and they were dead.
Life held them down.
But they did not care to lift it.
Sometimes it's not as heavy as you think.

So I saw them here again. I know not what to call them. Perhaps you can give a better name. I was never good with names. Too complex. Too much thought put into them. I'll simply call them the wanderers. I know, it's not creative, but I never claimed to be creative and simplicity's a gift.

I watched them in the forest where they haunt. Lost in an ocean of trees. They seek a path where there is none. Within they feel the demons call. One for dreams and one for wonder, one for reach and one for slumber. They forever search for what they yearn, for the dreams that fill their heads. But they'll never make it. Because they wait for it to come. For the stars to fall, into the palms of their hands, but they don't. So the wanderers hunger is never satisfied. So they roam the forest. Seeking. Forever seeking. With nothing to ever calm their hungry souls.

I don't know if I need to tell you, but stars don't just fall. Dreams don't just happen. They are made into reality. I can say I feel sorry for the wanderers I was almost in the same boat once. Maybe I am in the same boat. Maybe I will be. One can never tell where the road leads. I hope they find a way to make it out. A remedy for their hunger.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Children

I entered upon an open field set apart from the road on which I walked. It seemed far. And distance messes with the mind. But I believed I saw a chainlink fence, barbed wire at its top. It circled a building round and round keeping all within. Seeing this I did believe I should get back to the road. For darkness stands and I still, await the light that's at the end. Yet something still called me back to the fence that I had seen. A chilling haunting ghastly wind that was blowing through the grass. I turned back. As one does when faced with such a chill. For mystery is appealing. And strangeness has an attraction. As curiosity leads on. I followed.  There I saw the children. About two hundred there must have been. They slept on beds of stone, a single blanket for the cold. For their care, there were more children. As kids take care of kids. Take a child, place a guard and still, it's all the same. Where are the parents? Where have family's gone? And a...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Possibilities

Today the dome is white, like the emptiness of a blank page. It reminds me of the gray sky I saw the other day. The day it seemed the world stood still. Today is different. Today the dome is a blank page. A page where the story is told through bits of inspiration that rain down. Each drop is an idea. Together they flood the streets creating rivers of creativity. It's beautiful in a way, but also sad and also angry. For as the drops fall from above the wind roars in rage. Perhaps it can be described as chaos. The chaos of a blank page. The chaos of ideas that rake the mind. The beautiful chaos that rains from above.
Post a Comment
Read more

The Rain

I walk the road. The one that was laid before me. Above, the clouds still stand. A dark shadow overhead. I feel as though I have been here before. I look around. But familiarity has lost its hold in memory. I have no remembrance of this place. Just a feeling. That the dark is nothing new. I've dealt with it once before still uncertainty grips my thoughts. As I walk the rain falls. Each drop splatters on the ground. I look to the dome above. Does the world cry too? I look to it for answers. It gives none. But I didn't expect it to. I walk under a tree and sit. Me and the pouring rain. I remember the wanderers from before. Sometimes I wonder if the world knows the pains of each soul. Now I wonder if each soul knows the pain of the world. So I watch the rain fall. In each drop I see a story. A memory. A tear for the ones forgotten. A drop for the ones in pain. A cry for the ones who are lost. And so the world weeps. And I wonder.  Is peace found at the road's end? Or...
Post a Comment
Read more