"wonderers" poems
They say listen and pray to God
For he will give you the answers
but, what about us who don't believe?
are we the lost wonderers?
we must find answers by ourselves
knowing that nobodies listening
so are we really lost with eyes closed
or are we the dreamers left without any dreams
nothing but eachother and nothing left to hide
because we know that god is never at our side
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
And so I watch
And I listen
as faithful friend after friend excuses themselves
with their funny excuses
and I laugh
at the joke that the fates have whispered to me
No one else seems to hear it
It’s not quite so funny, you see.
The pitter patter of the pity
You can hear it, you see
You can see it, actually.
“It’s a small thing among friends”
And a small thing to see in a stranger’s face
The twinge of sadness and confusion and relief for themselves
They look at me and they see what they will never be
They see, though, what could happen, horribly.
One in 100
maybe.
1,000
10,100?
less likely
(for you).
And so I watch
And I listen
And they whisper
and they wonder
and they worry
And I laugh
at the joke that life telling me,
mocking at me.
But it’s not quite so funny, you see.
The whispering of the Wonderers
Asking over politely
Never listening intently
And I’ll tell them all about it
And I will listen
to the pitter patter of the pity.
Pitter pattering;
tip toeing around me,
so constantly
and away, usually.
tip toeing of tongues in whispers so willingly disregarding me,
or cautiously eluding everything.
Or even tip toeing of tongues trying to calm me.
The pitter patter of pitty.
You can hear it, you see.
You can see it, actually.
It may be a small thing.
Truthfully, it’s bigger than you might see.
I see.
And I laugh.
at the joke that the the fates whispered.
No one else quite seems to understand it.
But It’s become quite funny, to me.
What a pity.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
So I watch
And I listen
and I laugh
at the joke the fates have whispered to me.
No one else seems to hear it...
It’s not quite so funny, you see
The pitter patter of the pity...
You can hear it, you see,
you can see it, actually.
“It’s a small thing amongst friends”
a small thing to see in a stranger’s face:
the twinge of sadness,
confusion,
relief for themselves.
They look at me, seeing what they will never be.
They see, though, what could happen, terribly,
1 in 100,
in 1,000,
10,000, maybe.
And so I watch.
And I listen.
As they whisper,
and they wonder,
and they worry.
And I laugh
at the joke that life telling me, mocking at me.
But it’s not quite so funny, you see,
that whispering of the Wonderers
Asking over politely
But never listening intently
I’ll tell them all about it.
it seems such a small thing.
Listen.
It may be bigger than you see.
They say
“you look so healthy…”
Or
“You don’t look sick to me.”
But I’ll smile.
And I’ll laugh
at the joke that life is telling me.
You can’t hear it, darling.
And you don’t want to.
That’s okay.
It must be a joke anyway...
Nope. This is my life.
But what’s the difference either way?
I’ll smile.
I’ll laugh.
And they’ll hear one day.
“one day” will be today.
They will see.
Not just maybe.
I’ll tell them all about it.
And I’ll watch,
and I’ll listen.
The pitter patter will turn to applause.
pity will somehow be praise
and understanding.
such a thing to see in a stranger’s face;
so curious to me.
It’s not so funny you see,
it’s quite serious, actually.
this is the life that has been given to me.
I’ll joke about it, maybe.
but listen,
possibly you’ll see,
**What someone’s living
isn’t always what it appears to be.**
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
Some nights I spend sleeping
Other nights I’ll spend resting my head down on a keyboard
Drowning in updates and refreshing pages
Trying to find reasons for being up
so **** late
Lately, these nights that I worked a long eight hour shift
Waiting to escape retail in hopes
My friends aren’t busy, wanting to retell some stories
The nights my friends hop restaurant to restaurant
“We have no place to go"
We’ve been riding these desert streets for hours
Resurfacing our stories to heal our wounds
Or maybe our laughter only masks it
And we like to think it’s both
You can ride these streets as fast as you like, trying to forget,
but tonight,
we write
we ride
we eat
we share
tonight, the moon plays catch-up with us, it’s desert wonderers
the sun, tonight she’ll rest
tonight, the roadrunner
walked
crossed the street with a lizard in its mouth
looked me in the eye and swallowed it
The desert bird didn’t serve its name’s purpose
We’ve realized that sometimes, society, doesn’t serve it’s intentions
but when so
"we have no place to go"
We’ll turn parking lots into neighborhoods
Cars into homes, with kickbacks and house parties
Turn songs into poems
Become poetry ourselves
Become trilogies of our most battered loved lives
Find excuses for where the stars lie
And sometimes we’ll swear they lie in our ex’s eyes
And we’ll become what we don’t want to be in the dark
vulnerable
walking roadrunners
poets who don’t write
but in that moment, were just teenagers
"with no place to go"
We swear this summer is ours,
That growing up doesn’t have to be synonymous with change
That human beings aren’t equivalent to seasons
That poems actually can be never ending
if only we have the courage to
write the beginning
That Denny’s will always be a hotspot
Cafe’s are temporary
Dollar Menu’s are forever
We’re everything but hungry
Only starving
For inspiration in a wasteland
Unquenchable thirst for dreams of doing
something in empty parking lots
Trying to fill voids.
Tonight,
We replace our heartbreaks with these nights
The nights we walk across roads
Unknowing the other side, with lizards halfway down our throats
Tonight
We write, without looking both ways
~
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
For all was tame and quiet,
Pin drop symphonies rang the bells of my attention
As sound seemed very absence
But in the presence of movement over known
Emitting silent ******
My seances only were aroused
When all the limbs came round the bend
To tumble over interruption
While passive in their flail
A lonely lady frail soon moved from in the dark
Lent to the tilt of my eyes a gentlemen
Then floating out of balance
So near to me in absence of the sun
Lips divided slowly
Seeping breath of the flowing pale
Such absence clustered, subtle glowing
Painted figures from shadows as she stretched the crooked hand
To ***** my collar with uneasiness
While nameless forces bloomed
To guid her fingers to my breast plate
Envy shook within her eyes
That tasted visions of a heart beat
Never pulsing in her ribs
That soon unhinged and spread around me
But in i dove before the grasp
So she would not consume my soul
My body landed in a room
That was the same as such before
I left its confines while floating
Never greeting who soon came
Around the corner, solid form
A figure with my name and face
His heart was absent
Waiting, always waiting
To extend a hand to lonely wonderers.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
A blur of green dancers,
Grouped, huddled together,
Movements, aimless as can be.
A slash of black, flies across the clouded background,
Descending, gracefully and effortlessly.
In flight, it ***** it’s means of freedom.
The brutes of buildings stand ugly,
As the horizon remain fenced.
Twisting and winding are the dull pathways,
Paved, covering the misery of life,
On which various realms of existence walk,
Some covered in shredded rags, barefoot and starving,
Some on wheels reclined in leather seats.
Bridges hang overhead,
Giant entities hovering,
Connecting people as well as destroying lives.
Yet life prevails as wonderers take use,
Of a corner enough only to fit half their soulless bodies,
And the constant four legged companion watches on,
By his side, always by his side.
For in the corners of hell, we find a savior,
A miracle is always to be born,
And an angel is always to be found,
Amongst the crowd of evil.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 2:24 AM UTC
feeling the walls close in
the cold consuming your very soul
distant and cold
refusing any comfort
why are you still here?
who made your self worth so low?
the cracks between your aching heart
can't take another blow
the haunting
the lonely
the wonderers of night
causing fright
tear yourself apart
let your insides rot
fragile creature
terrified of the night.
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 1:50 PM UTC
I write not as a Teacher or Prophet
I write as a Scholar, Monk or Wonderer;
Not as one who has attained,
but as one who is attaining;
Perhaps fellow Wonderers
make the best Teachers.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 5:11 AM UTC
You are a wonder of wonderers,
A fiction of factors,
A brief encounter in the minds of the counters.
Those who pry on the privy,
And laugh at the laughter,
Will never remain for the fruit of the after.
You are a dream of dreamers,
A scribble by scribe,
A leaf in the leaves and a lie in the lives.
Those who jumble the jaded,
And disrupt the corrupt,
Will never stand still, they'll leave so abrupt.
You are a bottom for bottomless,
A cease with an end,
A one who understands we're all born to begin.
Those who play on the played,
And step from the ground,
Will only fall forever, all the way down.
For few will notice and fewer will dwell -
because you carry yourself like you travel through hell.
But I will be here to carry you through;
On my back, by my side, in my heart - a beauty beheld.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
We are wonderers in the dark.
Looking for the light.
Hoping it will show the way out.
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 2:20 AM UTC
Though the glimmer of
evanesce shines aloft..
lighting the wayward
wonderers path...
Always remember that below
every shining moment
that there is always be a shadow
under every candle.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
maybe we don't exactly need to live forever to become immortal.
maybe we don't need to be in everyone's hearts
or even have our faces in the hall of fame.
they say,
energy cannot be created nor destroyed.
so maybe just existing
had made us immortal already.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
Cross my heart and throw me deep
Lungs of water, my minds asleep
A lonely town where wonderers weep
Another kid with no place to be
I'm a ghost and dads a mystery
Moms a saint
But church is no place for me
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
In the all I've said
dare I
wonder
wandering toward nothingness
again
Still time
this time
in time
due time
course offered
wonderers follow
Tell it proudly
still I designed
set it apart
my part
in mind
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
my life is an ember
dying on the floor
and winking at me
the way only
dying stars do
to the wonderers
and the wishers
of this world
through its dust.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC