Wandering Soul

Desires of the eternal wanderer
Are never gonna be satisfied
Even with lakes of abundance
Endless mediocrity
Is running through her fingers

Laden with trumpery she bends
Deprived from hope she screams
Without a whit of pride she begs
And the platitudes are flying
Right back into her mouth

Somewhere on Earth poets are sleeping
Covered with their quilts of white pages
Millions and millions of blue birds
Are going to welcome you
And the tireless tornado of your memories


5 thoughts on “Wandering Soul

  1. Very nice. There is such familiarity in this piece. Such pained rootlessness, which I was not expecting, having grown so accustomed to wandering that I miss it still. You would think that in the steps taken there would be a newness, a freshness. But instead there is a past life following you. And voices that cling to you still.

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