Posts Tagged ‘travel’

You were told:

though the Path may twist and bend,

stick to it to receive Happy Ever After.

Now the Woods have cleared, the tunnelĀ opened;

you’re at the last page, but must ask,

is this truly Journey’s End?

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This room I know so well

may be comfortable, but

it is also unchanged and unexciting.

Now the sky is gray, but I wonder:

do we make our own destinies?

When the sky turns blue,

I’ll set out

and follow whatever path

pulls me- a gray rope

that leads from my heart to

a destination.

The Distance between two people

is such an Uncomfortable thing-

more so when one forgets it,

while the Other stays- lingering.

Moving on is a funny thing.

At times it seems impossible,

but then you come to a place

where you can look back

and laugh. And you may not

be happy, but

you’re getting there.

And another realization

hits-

that it’s time to move forward

and stop looking back.

Because our two lives

are of different orbits.

 

I’d be lying if I didn’t say

I wanted to see you again.

Sometimes concealing the truth

is as bad as lying.

 

But if I could be anywhere,

I’d be in London,

or Paris. Alone.

 

I’ll have to pay off student loans

before I can afford a plane ticket

to Europe. I don’t think I’d say

goodbye to you before I’d leave.

 

Maybe I’d leave you my orange sweatshirt,

just because you won’t be able to wear it.

 

Maybe I’d leave you with the book

I made out of every poem

I’ve written about you.

 

Maybe I’d try to meet you beforehand,

and leave you with a word spoken out loud,

because you may not miss the sound of my voice,

or you may not remember it- I don’t

remember yours. And that scares me.

 

So I’ll leave you with a word,

if you’ll just speak my name.

Into the thrill of clattering hooves,

black steel on the stony street,

red sparks flitting like fairies in the night;

into the night

vivid as the jungle with its wriggling shadows,

and amber eyes, the lights

small and white through canopy of shadow;

into the forest

with its ground of beige dust,

and pines and spruces

regaling times of fire

and rising like turrets with jewel-needles;

into a new sky

more infinite than a road

and flatter than mirror

where clouds drift above like friends

watching a companion dive into an ocean.

Cruel Dawn

curls her mischievous hair-

glowing flames of flamingo pink

and citrus orange,

into the window

to settle on eyes like buzzing insects,

irritating one’s eyes out of landscapes

of the mind,

and into the dimly lit room

as real as paint,

where one sighs

as hooves, night, jungle, forest, sky

fleetly leave one’s eyes.

“You’re a writer? Why go to college? Why don’t you just get a job and save enough money to travel the country or go live in a place like New York?”
“I have plenty of time to go nowhere, and I’d rather go there with an education and some sense of entitlement.”

This didn’t actually happen. Most of the witty things IĀ could say I rarely have the opportunity to actually say.