This was the first poem I ever wrote, and I'll try do them in order. They get better, I can guarantee.
~
As he wanders about the earth, he softy sings his song,
"He who wanders day after day, becomes The Wanderer and cannot be slain."
Every day when the sky is blue, he wanders 'til night and 'til the next day is due:
He is The Wanderer.
Today, yesterday, tomorrow, and on,
He wanders and softly sings his song,
"He who wanders day after day, becomes The Wanderer and cannot be slain."
Now and again he passes your town,
Barely even making a sound:
He is The Wanderer.
You won't believe him when he speaks;
When he speaks of reaching the tallest peaks.
He wanders on and on, then softly sings his song,
"He who wanders day after day, becomes The Wanderer and cannot be slain."
He is The Wanderer, unsettled and free,
He cries out to all ages:
"Come wander with me."
~
I don't remember what exactly was going through my mind when I wrote this, but as the reader, you can interpret it however you want. I guess I see it as how we're all wanderers, and life is an endless road. You don't know what you'll come across, you gotta find out as you go, and don't be afraid, just wander on.
YOU ARE READING
P.S.
Поэзия"Not all Art has to be art. Some Art is simply the Art of writing." ~ T. Durand
