#saunter
I awoke in a perfect world
Utterly broken and unfit
I could not find the pieces necessary
To fix what was wrong
So I retreated inward
Attempted to mend a fracture
that I was given
And to make sense of it all
In time I emerged, a full person
But in my absence
The world around me
Had fallen apart
Nov 24, 2025
Nov 24, 2025 at 12:28 PM UTC
I am waiting for slumber to keep
and surrender to the deep,
but only aches do conquer,
claiming victory over my saunter.
Mar 1, 2025
Mar 1, 2025 at 11:18 PM UTC
on a gentle breeze
fluffy dandelion seeds
did saunter around
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 7:59 PM UTC
Appearing in the dark,
You wrap around my love,
In greedy form.
A knife in my heart, I'm bleeding.
Frozen, watching you.
Laughing, no one seems to notice you
Sitting with ease, on his lap.
Unknowingly, my legs take me,
quickly,
out of your sight.
The bathroom mirror reveals
The true reflection of the woman
Living in fear.
Build my confidence, glass.
Erase the flutter in my stomach.
Stitch the wound in my heart.
Strong, beautiful woman -
Saunter back to your seat.
Sit with his friends,
Strangers to you.
Look in his golden eyes.
See his truth,
She disappears.
Imagine the present, reality.
Forget not the honesty.
She does not exist any place,
Other than your fragile mind.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
One foot in front of the other.
Days passed by.
Walking was said to be a spiritual practice which yielded many dividends. The replenishment of the soul and the connection to all around you. Pilgrimage to sacred sites, walking the labyrinth, meditation. Strolling, cavorting, frolicking or wandering. As we stretch our legs, we stretch our minds and souls.
Few philosophers and writers had ever penned the absolute, gut-wrenching torturous boredom of the walk as Ronnie James now experienced it.
Fifty-six bones, one hundred and twelve ligaments and seventy-six muscles of dull, throbbing pain.
Who could tell how long it had been? He had but only the tedious task of counting his steps to judge it by. He'd long ago lost all track.
Sauntering alone through the barren ocean of sand.
Indeed, Thoreau wrote that the word itself, "saunter," may have been derived from “sans terre.”
“Without land or a home,” murmured Ronnie.
With every step we take, we leave some ghost of ourselves behind,
He who sits motionless, watching life pass by through the window, may be the most awful vagrant of them all – but the saunterer is no more vagrant than the meandering river.
Days passed by.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
Sauntering in the streets,
Rain drops falling down,
I'm just following my feet.
Lost in countless thoughts,
Head above the clouds
Dark grey and heavy.
It is myself I found,
After the sounds
Had finally quieted down.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
my voice saunters
climbing inside my head
slowly I places one word
at a time
I try to underline my feelings
by listening
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 4:44 AM UTC
Come,
Walk with me.
Let us stroll together, you and I,
Just the two of us,
Away from here for a spell.
Let us link arms, or hold hands, or simply walk
Side by side.
Nowhere too far
Nothing too rigorous
A leisurely step in the open.
No need for words,
But if you wish, let us speak easily,
Honestly
And respectively.
If one should ask an intrusive question
Let the other be quick to forgive
In the understanding it was asked out of care and sincerity.
Or if footfalls should be the only sound between us
We'll enjoy it for what it is
A ramble,
A wander,
A friendly saunter.
We can return when you feel it is right
Or if the hour is getting late.
And if you want to continue
I will be with you every step of the way.
Come, my friend,
Let us remind the path why it is there.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC