It is here and now that I realise,
I am but a wanderer, a simple being.
I came into this world to leave it,
Perhaps leave a glimpse of myself in the minds of those who stumbled upon my path.
I am no artist, no writer, no poet.
I hold no control over the beginning nor end of my story.
Still, I wield the power to choose my present.
It is a gift of great weight,
One which is both a ballast and a mast.
A stabilising burden and my wings to freedom.
I am but a wanderer, a drifting ship.
I meander upon the sea of life,
Without a single island in sight.
Nonetheless I fear not of being lost,
For I am content with a lack of destination.
On thought, I fear more of the contrary,
As arriving at coast suggests leaving what I know.
I am but a wanderer, a fleeting wind.
One which acknowledges the passing of time,
And the departure of familiarity.
As the winds blow and change,
So do their surroundings.
As the people grow and change,
So do their companions.
It is here and now that I realise,
I am but a wanderer, a person you won't know.
Our paths entwine like leaves dancing in the breeze,
Only to go their separate ways.
Today, you look at my face and hear my voice,
In the future you will look at a photo.
Today, you know where I'll be and what I'll be doing,
In the future you will only be able to ponder.
What once was familiar to both you and I,
Will be nothing but a wind gone by.
