written completely today. i've been stewing the idea in my head for ages. wrote a little plan about a week ago and then wrote a poem that was nothing like the plan. but that's how these things always go. do enjoy. pity the stanzas didn't stay. oh well.


The Journey towards the Western Land of Evenings

set off on a journey

with destination unknown

but desiring

verdant nature

wrists wrapped with beryls,

crowned with pearl-sheened sky,

everlasting stars.

The glowing freckles of Cronus

just beyond

dimpled fingertips

the road is long

but easy

so they say

with driest gentle sand

matching foot with footprint

then slowly pulled away

onwards towards sunset,

the western lands,

as the sky draws closed

and the whispering fire,

night's companion

and a traveler's too,

steals away sleep

with its mysterious ramblings.

soft hands and open heart

gossamer raindrops

hardly felt

but for the barest of collisions.

an adventure they called it

from there to here

and onwards still

to there again,

where sky and sea and earth

all touch

and freedom

is no longer a dream.

where skin is cleansed

by fire and water

and no one knows the feel

of rocks under your skin.

fierce, the hollowness inside

as shore and forest

fill no gap.

the pounding feet,

that's what they need

pulling onwards, onwards,

onwards, on.

where rock meets sea

and secrets dance

for those who stop for a while

press on, my friend,

press on!

muddied toes

that bleed and crack

when shoes no longer fit.

the meadow is fine

and so is the town

full of a friendly lot

but the desperation

to find that land

of honey, peace and fire.

the quest ends not here,

so don't look back.

my legs march on,

though I would turn back

to find what I do not seek.

the road is rocks

and broken glass

and littered chunks of coal

foot prints, not in gentle sand,

but iron-blood along the lines.

wandering, desolate, murmuring moans

of the traveler on the journey.

winding still, the wind-kissed road

dusty coated shins

but feet move onward,

always onward,

never halting,

never standing.

home they say

it's time for home.

home? what home?

where is home?

been gone for quite an age.

home is where

the body stops

and then comes back again.

home!they urge

and turn me back

home before you're old!

but feet and heart and hands are old,

old before their time,

and don't know quite where to go.

so further, onwards, wandering.

the gray of horizon

on a stormy day,

the rose in amber

of sunrise

there's no hurry now,

there never was,

to reach that far-off place.

but moving, always moving,

don't stop, just yearn

for rest and sleep,

for dreams and cool clear water.

brown is growing

green again,

so many things to see,

and there's the path

that never ends.

come along, come on with me.