To live and not to wander,
in travels and in mind,
must be the way to faulter
like no other kind.
To seek, create, to love, we do
wander on, as we must,
to never find what's true,
while our ashes turn to dust,
and sow what makes us blue.
Wander on,
do not stick to script.
And when life throws a rhyme,
and you're sure that it's time,
say no.
Flipped.
Wander on
the lines across
these
p
a
g
e
s.
Wander on,
until you reach the ages.
When you write with rhyme,
the poem will write itself.
Same with life,
and you'll find there's nothing
left.
What can you say that hasn't been
said?
Where can you go that hasn't been
led?
So say you break the mold,
break the rhythm, break the rhyme,
will you keep on going?
Will you find the time?
As the end comes nigh,
the finality closes in,
you begin to stray,
to see what may truly be
offered.
But if only you had the energy,
you know you couldn't wait.
To enjoy life's simple pleasures,
and now it's far too
late.