"unwalked" poems
i'm not showering any
more frequently than
i typically do
but every time i step in
that bathtub i swear
a whole day goes by
the water falling
turns into soft
concrete
and the drain
stops up and
i'm standing
ankle deep in
a brand new
sidewalk
soap suds running down
my legs and pooling
upon an unwalked path
and heaven only knows
how long before it all cracks
and i'm free.
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
Tell me a story, traveller,
of unwalked roads you walked alone
beneath the blue and sunlit sky,
paved with earth or cobblestone
and straying clouds that wander by.
of strange lands and stranger folks
and strange songs they sang with you,
in strange tongues they call their home,
that, in your dreams, was somewhere new.
of temporary loves you loved,
then set your broken lovers free,
and healed your broken, heartless soul
beneath the starry sky and sea.
of darkened woods and foreign sound
that haunt the night-time every night.
of moons that follow footsteps quiet
and stars that watch in silent light.
of stormy nights and thunderclouds
that failed to bring your childish fears,
and drowning rain that drowned the winds
and brought you melancholic tears.
of snowy golden sunsets high
on mountain sides, ragged and old
and tears of wonder, tears of joy,
love of stories left untold.
of rivers running swiftly by
your resting sleep ere break of day.
of twilights that blanket the sky
and sweep the orange clouds away.
of lost lanterns and memories
and aimless wandering in the night.
of faraway towns of scattered starry
homes so warm and hearts so bright.
of lone camp-fires’ dancing songs
and lonely faded quiet applause.
of longing and of selfish pain,
of losing love and loving loss.
Tell me a story, traveller,
of reminiscing in grateful shade,
and of your final travel home
before your loving memories fade.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
I've realised that I have taken life too seriously. So, I delved into absurdist thought. The idea is so fascinating. There's no meaning to this life, to this universe, to this reality of ours. And the protagonist is going insane, trying to find a meaning to this meaningless existence, toying between societal perception and individual perception. In the entirety of his/her journey, ***** meets a variety of people, engages in crazy doings, takes the unwalked path, develops a purpose to prolong this mundane existence, eventually leaves it and drowns in melancholy, haphazardly moves to another purpose, then another, at some point maybe religion, then back to reality, unleashes creativity in the most disdain places, unleashes creativity in the most affluent places, moves to social work, gives out opinions on social realities, and fantasy(utopian society), finally commits to a normal job, earns well, gets married, most likely has children, gives love to them and dies, probably peacefully.
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 3:53 PM UTC
I tell myself, Not now, but soon,
As hours slip by and day turns to moon,
Each task a shadow, a whisper, a weight,
Pushed to the future, left for fate.
The list grows longer, a towering spire,
Each undone deed fuels the fire,
A creeping pressure, a heavy chain,
The echoes of time call out my name.
One more scroll, I plead, I stall,
As unfinished work begins to sprawl,
The walls close in, the air turns tight,
Procrastination steals my fight.
I see the path I should have tread,
The steps unwalked, the words unsaid,
Yet here I sit, in stillness bound,
With every choice, I lose more ground.
The weight of delay becomes my cage,
A storm of regret, a quiet rage,
Trapped in a cycle, I fight to break free,
But the grip of avoidance clings to me.
Still, I rise with a trembling start,
A small rebellion, a beating heart,
One task, one step, one fleeting win,
A crack of light lets hope begin.
For though the mountain looms ahead,
And doubts still whisper in my head,
Each effort, no matter how slight or small,
Chips at the fortress, crumbles the wall.
Procrastination, you won’t define,
The rhythm, the purpose, the life that’s mine,
I’ll fight your hold, though the battle is long,
With steady resolve, I’ll grow strong.
Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 8:05 PM UTC
Flip the page
What comes next?
Hurricane or Robin's Nest?
Road unwalked
Who can tell?
Tambourine or ringing bell?
Will my footsteps
single be?
Or will he walk next to me?
Will I float
between the stars?
Will I speed in bright red cars?
What does looking
forward bring?
A glass ever darkening.
How long will
my questions last?
How long till my now is past?
Tomorrow
never comes today.
Tomorrow never brings dismay.
Tomorrow is always
out of reach.
Today has so much more to teach.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 11:06 PM UTC
Loves of my December,
frozen from the beginning
of my endings,
and the fall of my anguish.
In the winter of my solitude,
I trace the wrinkles
of fainting memories.
Breathing out a sigh of surrender
for the unspoken, the paths
unwalked, the doors unopened,
and the ghosts of love that remain
draped in the painful cloak of longing.
Yet, amidst the cold, I find grief
blooming like a flower in the snow.
For in the mirror of my December
I have found not just
the echo of what was lost,
But the prayers of April—
the goddess of renewal,
the angels of spring,
and the dawn of new beginnings.
How can I not rejoice?
For in this darkness,
there is light…
Feb 24, 2024
Feb 24, 2024 at 8:53 AM UTC
forests remain, farther and farther away from us.
only streets, houses
accompany me
like a fingernail on an exhausted hand
wherever i might stop, everywhere,
pain is my compass
always, along this way
forever unwalked
given back to me
the scent of roses in the garden
the waters flooded long ago, belated
tenderness, time
besieged by
time
everything goes by so easily.
life. so easily
was i
forgotten
Andrei Zanca from My Cup of Light
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
Should the earth be but a quiet manor
A palace in forgotten elder oak
Where what used to fly, a threadbare banner
and all-conquering poison ivy chokes
Well, we'd explore every nook and cranny
leave no dusty, unread book on the shelf
our nose for secrets would be uncanny
until we know it better than ourself
No immovable stone will be unturned
No forgotten corridor will be unwalked
until all its riddles we will have learned
and every bolted door has been unlocked
for we discover what the world conceals
and go until the last secret, we steal
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
A barren road,
Clandestine place.
The path unwalked,
Sand undisplaced.
The final destination,
The route unpaved,
The end location,
Travelers be brave.
No light.
No pavement.
No lingering sounds from a nearby city.
Just a heart that pounds.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 1:12 AM UTC
Another version of myself last night,
Visited me in a true lucid dream,
To share some news I could not first believe,
About the workings of the universe.
He told me what I already thought true,
That there are an infinite number of
Universes in the vast multiverse,
I smiled as though he’d said the sky is blue.
Then he went on to tell me that in all,
Live only different versions of ourselves,
On identical versions of each world,
In which self-aware beings with souls exist.
All versions of my other selves that live,
On infinite numbers of other earths,
Share but one soul identical at birth,
Shaped by the choices made in each lifetime.
As we all know each choice we make in life,
Can change our future both for good or ill,
And every version that exists of us,
Has made every possible choice in life.
No fork in the road has been left unwalked,
No door unopened in life’s long hallway,
An infinite number of each of us,
Has made every possible decision.
Free will reigns supreme in each universe,
And sharp blacks and whites in each human life,
Blur to diffused grays when viewed as a whole,
With pure good or evil hard to discern.
My other-self proved this by showing me,
A thousand samples of my other selves,
From across the multiverse, each different,
The result of their lifetimes of choices.
I was disappointed to find I am,
At best average among the others,
Better than some, worse than many others,
In no way exceptional or special.
Some of my other selves have cured cancer,
Some are junkies, alcoholics or mad,
Some are con men, thieves, some honest judges,
A few are homeless, more than just a few.
Some are wealthy and kind, or poor and cruel,
Some loving husbands and fathers, some not,
Some are healthy, strong, happy and prosper,
Some found life too hard to bear and checked out.
Some are the kind of men I love, like dad,
Some are the kind of men I loathe, like me,
Somewhere I’m every kind of man there is,
That was the true lesson I learned last night.
There are no degrees of separation,
Between all my other selves and this one,
And there’s no degrees of separation,
Between all human beings on planet Earth.
We are the same in every way that counts,
Save for the choices made in a lifetime,
That sculpt our souls into saints or demons,
And all the fine gradients in between.
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 11:41 PM UTC
breathing techniques cannot salvage my mentality
dry - cold - gales whisking shards of icicles
jet stream frozen oxygen into my pink lungs
and as nature’s razors draw red blood
my capacity for speaking matches the bleeding
of a headspace drowning in black ink
-
The quills of my fingertips have been continuously dipped
Into the reservoir of dye crested by the hole in my head
-
a yellow sun rises anew day to cast light on these visions
a red rose withers on concrete of unwalked opportunity
a orange three-pronged leaf exists in this dissension
ambition will either
flourish to match a perpetuating green
or
decompose to return compost the dirt of earth
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
You remember how I told you
That yesterday was the last day
That I wrote to you
Well here I am...
Do you remember me?
I kept walking through
your streets still unwalked
But this time
I Grabbed a lighter and
I’ve walked and walked
And burnt them all
Now this is the last time
I ever write to you
With hopes of love
I let you burn
Cuz all those bridges
Are ashes
I can’t see anymore
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 3:14 AM UTC
a car hums as the sun wakes
a new day. a move with a list
of numbers. they draw a truck.
clothes, books, bed, music, electronic accessories
another room
with skyscrapers
a balcony looking down
another stranger to unfold
to keep things from
flowing over a cliff
in a hidden forest
of charred trunks
crunching footsteps
bushwalkers
are still & squirrel
their screens
away from the canopy
eyes safe from cacophony
tentative steps
tread upon worn pathways
a new source of food
a *** simmers
infusing flavours
held & prepared
a plate with irregular patterns
the harbour stretches underneath
a path unwalked
another horizon
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
When time ends,
Where will the sidewalks go?
The clocks stop ticking,
The wind won’t blow.
And where will I go?
Only unending time knows.
My feet will lead me
To the end of my journey.
Unwalked paths
Do not concern me.
No time or path shall ever define me.
I walk with the past facing behind me.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 10:13 AM UTC
Let me make it clear.
I am a shell of my former self.
The raindrop, unformed,
to be denied the pull of gravity.
But, if I close my eyes,
I can see divine assertions
of my former glory;
to be divulged and distributed
to everyone but myself.
Should I trust my senses
when all that's manifested
are insane twists of mind,
mazes lost in translation,
compasses circling upon themselves,
leading to unsettled destinations,
winding roads and battered shores
with waves eradicating
bits of my character?
When the floods come,
will we assign to the ark
creation
two by two?
Will we wait until the storm passes?
Behold me,
the solitary man!
Behold me,
a true island,
etched from rock
by the continous chisel
of earth's blood!
Vegetation untouched,
lacking maturity.
Earth unwalked,
lacking integrity.
Air uninspired,
lacking humanity.
But, if I close my eyes,
I can see the universe's plan
for my destiny,
placed on the shelf of life,
dusty and fossilized,
unmapped and unread.
I am not as I should be,
resisting the best within me.
Is it too late?
For me?
For me to retain my inheritance?
How will I find Polaris?
The skies remain murky
by the fog I have created.
Who will help me navigate?
Or will I continue to be the lost treasure
undiscovered?
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Many roads, unwalked
many things unseen
many lives, unlived
I leave you to yourself
Be wild as you were born
Dance and be yourself
I was just a sparkle in your life
Not my girlfriend not my wife
I was just a sensation
A moment in creation
Does your hand still feel like that day
When you touched my face
When the moon was big and rich
Do you remember?
Or i am lost and washed away by time
by the sea of life
Life that we could share
Just imagine..
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC