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ESHÉ Mar 2019
My mothers love I never knew.
Her affection was cold and pale blue.
My thorny heart was born to sin.
In creek water, I'm born again.
A pack of joes, a fith of gin,
I follow ghosts of what could've been.
Ive seen the sun pass through the. moon
In every town, I start again.
JK Oct 2018
Holding the compass of uncertainties,
Carrying the baggage of memories,
The drifter is drifting along with the tides…

Without boundaries or borders,
Floating with the moment,
The drifter is weaving timeless dreams…

Playing with the shadow and light,
Swinging with the hands of time,
Unbound in the truth of freedom,
The drifter is living in the moment…

The journey of love and joy,
Build in every pause life takes,
Never holding back the voyage,
The drifter survives in the passion…

Miles and milestones left behind,
The strides always ahead of the past,
Moving forward in the distance,
The drifter fades between the lines of present and future…

Jayakumar K
Drifting with the time and space, a lonely drifter treaded along...
Tarik Aug 2018
Isolated I stood at the shadowed corner
illuminated only by the street lamp
across the decrepit road.

Deafeningly silent I sat perched
at the bench awaiting my vessel
to deliver me.

Coyly he drifted into my universe
wearing a cloak and a smile
that would charm a Queen's guard.

Stiff like a board I stared at him
existing at a medium between
the end and the beginning.

Puzzled I was at a loss of how
to approach this drifter and his
exceedingly charming demeanor.

Thunderously my heart thumped
waiting anxiously for my vessel
that could not come soon enough.

Do I dare succumb?
I'm a small pebble
making a giant ripple
A speck of black sand
on a coral white beach
The left foot
kicking up a storm

A hermit, a drifter
a paradigm shifter
I am a disruptive
not a destructive force
I think outside of the box because inside I'm lost

I've been Nero, DaVinci
Neruda, Dali
burned as a witch
and now I'm just me....
a small pebble
making a giant ripple
Poem written for a blow-torch painting I did earlier this year.
Andy Felix Jul 2018
I'm just another stranger that no one knows
Call me a drifter going with the flow
I'm just another one, just.. Another one
All remains the same when said and done
Just pass by
I'm another face in the crowd
Don't try to figure it out
I may be alone but free to roam
Its alright, no worries tonight
Im not lost but im hard to find just lookin for somthing more this time
Another gamble
Trying my luck
Off the beaten path
I won't give up
where were the living at
and how were they feeling?
what were they doing and
what were they thinking about
while I was spending those
dreadful days
in tiny rooms
alone,
at the foot of the bed,
with a bottle of whiskey
and my Converse shoes
tucked in the corner,
when the vines of nostalgia
were constricting my thoughts
and I was memorializing my childhood
like an ashtray,
putting out cigarette butts
on the bad memories
too often remembered?

I felt, as if, my purpose in life
was as important
as the mendacity
from the liars tongue.
misguided down a
directionless path,
left astray and forgotten about
like a drifter
playing the part of the rejected
and disassociated

shattering windows of opportunities by
burning through time and space and
jobs and women and ***** and drugs
and brain cells and miracles and
ideas and tenderness and
humanitarianism and morality
and conversations...
lots and lots of conversations,
wearing down my body, listlessly
like matchsticks to flame,

but auspiciously,
I found the lighter in writing,
sparking a new beginning and
regaining myself as I took the
wheel back from driving recklessly
through an impetuous
crash course of life

there’s no reason to tiptoe
around light sleepers and
walk on eggshells or
unbalanced tightropes
without the use of legs
in front of searing eyes
when it comes to writing,

writing is love being hustled
down the dead insides of
the dispassionate,

the unhappier the childhood
I’ve experienced
the funnier the comic book
I’ve illustrated

the more personal tragedy,
the better the writing

our minds at war
and writing is the peace

like watching
the robin and
the cardinal
fighting over
the worm,
as they slowly
pull it apart
i am a pixie
so do not miss me
when overnight
i fly away

i am a puzzle
with missing pieces
so do not cry
when the picture isn't perfect

i am a drifter
so when you see me
this is what you signed up for
without a contract

i am a nap
for a the insomniacs
what you need
but never lasts
im so sorry
Mysidian Bard Oct 2016
I have always had
The compelling urge to leave
Where I feel welcome
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