Wanderer, wanderer, where do you sleep?
On the lonely road, do you rest your feet?
Do you lay your weary head in caverns deep?
Or in the tallest tower of an abandoned keep?
Wanderer, wanderer, how far have you come?
From over the hills of the setting sun?
On how many roads have your worn boots run?
On what shores of distant land will your journey’s end come?
Oh wanderer, wanderer, where are you going?
To the greenest fields where seeds they are sowing?
To the driest canyons that sing with wind’s blowing?
Or to the distant mountains, where always it’s snowing?
My wanderer, wanderer, you’ve come to journey’s end.
Rest your tired feet and let them mend.
The name of wanderer, to someone else lend.
For wander no more, you have found me, my friend.
This poem I eventually hope to do as a song. Written while abroad in Spain, during a particularly heavy downpour. Alternate title is “Mother Nature”
The walls, they ring,
And the windows are clattering.
Outside in the storm,
The heavens are shattering.
The thunder rolls on,
It’s pounding the sky.
It rattles our bones,
To remind us we’re alive.
Had a story concept involving a band but I didn’t end up liking it much. I did however save one of the songs that they would have sung. So mentally read this with a Paramore-style rock sound and female singer.
Your old glories,
They look so perfect in your mind
It’s so much brighter,
You’re a better fighter,
When it’s viewed through the mists of time.
Short poem about the area around a bunch of fraternities at my university, where broken glass from countless bottles has been ground into the sidewalk. Alternate title “Shards of Glass”.
Scattered like a galaxy of shining stars,
Strewn on the sidewalk and streets by the bars,
Tiny specks of glass that sparkle and glitter.
A most enchanting sight and dangerous form of litter.