I Have Walked The Earth

I have walked the earth, and have come along way,
And now I am waiting to catch the last train home.
The sun’s going down, and at the waiting shed, I’d stay,
As it might not come tonight, and I hope it won’t.

I look at my worn out shoes, at the end of my tattered pants,
And the seams of my shirt, fraying with noodles of thread.
I remember the time I bought them all brand new, crisp in my hands,
They looked good on me, and nothing else was said.

I’d go around, and watch how people watched me walk,
The confident strides of walking to nowhere.
I’d stop and watch how people watched me talk,
The tales of a meandering youth in his prime.

I set out, and saw things, and grew old,
And, oh, have I told you about that great evening ball?
I realize how things change, when frequently retold,
Same old stories, but now feeling like an old, abandoned hall.

I talked and talked of my long lost youth,
And  had nothing to add from the aging me,
I talked more often to cover this truth,
To take it out of the light so no one would see.

I have walked the earth, and have come along way,
And now I am waiting to catch the last train home.
It has come at last, but look at it this way,
The path it has taken isn’t even half as far as I thought I roamed.

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[Sigh]

The cool breeze against your face,
As your hair flutters against the wind,
With your eyes lightly closed,
And a smile following your sigh of relief.

The warmth of the sunlight,
Piercing against the cold air,
Melting the frozen hopes in your heart,
Reminding you of the dreams you commanded to sleep.

The hushed whisper of the trees,
Echoing in you mind,
Recalling the slightest hint of nature in your heart,
Inviting you back to where you came from.

The stream of everything you’re taking in,
Swaying your soul back and forth,
Uplifting you, away from earth’s grasps,
Carrying you to where you spirit resides.

The flow of the words within you,
Surging stronger and stronger,
Til you can suppress them no more,
With your wild eyes roaming, thoughts looking for their way out.

The beat of the music,
Joining the pulse of the thoughts in your mind
As you write them down, with your hands
Dancing with the melody of your words.

Then silence.
And peace.
A sigh.
Then a stop.

I Am Waiting

I am waiting.
For my mind to make sense
Of the things I’ve been doing,
And the things I haven’t been.

I am waiting.
For the little things to give meaning,
To the bigger ones,
To the vague ones.

I am waiting.
For the thunder to strike the ground,
To wake me up from this dream I have,
Dreams that start the moment I wake up.

I am waiting.
For something, anything,
To pull me back where I shouldn’t have left,
Or to lead me where I should be.

I am waiting.
For the real rest that I yearn for,
No more running, behind any pretense,
Living true to the words of my poems.

I am waiting.
For you, for me, for anyone,
To explain to me why I am doing this,
To explain to me why I can’t be like them.

My Shadow Walks Me Home

My shadow walks me home,
But I only notice it when I’m alone.

My shadow walks me home,
Sometimes with the steady stride from work,
Fast-paced walks against the evening breeze,
But always faceless against the light.

My shadow walks me home,
Sometimes with a playful skip from singing,
Melodious, yet contained steps,
But always faceless against the light.

My shadow walks me home,
Sometimes bigger than me, if the light is far,
Smaller than me, if it is near,
But always faceless against the light.

My shadow walks me home,
Sometimes, in front of me, if I turn my back against the light,
Behind me, when I walk towards the light
But always faceless against the light.

You Aren’t Born Into My World Yet

You aren’t born into my world yet.
You are yet to walk the earth.
You are yet to dance among the raindrops.
You are yet to see the light.

You aren’t born into my world yet.
You are yet to sing your own song.
You are yet to commit mistakes.
You are yet to stand up again.

You aren’t born into my world yet.
You are yet to feel the scars.
You are yet to see the beauty.
You are yet to understand the irony.

You aren’t born into my world yet.
You are yet to read the unwritten.
You are yet to write the unspoken.
You are yet to speak.

The Day I Paused From Writing

The day I paused from writing.
The day I let go of my phone.
The day I stopped complaining.
The day the light had shone.

The day I paused from writing.
The day I disconnected from the wifi.
The day I stopped caring about forgetting.
The day I watched everything pass by.

The day I paused from writing.
The day I rest my mind.
The day I relearned sleeping.
The day I did not look behind.

The day I paused from writing.
The day I closed my eyes.
The day I remembered breathing.
The day I buried the me that dies.