A slight variation of Wanderer, Wanderer. Hoping to turn it into a song soon, possibly in a collab with a friend.
Wanderer, wanderer, where do you sleep?
On the lonely road, do you rest your feet?
Lay your weary head in caverns deep?
Or tallest tower of dusty 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?
In what distant land will your journey’s end come?
Oh wanderer, wanderer, where are you going?
To greenest fields where seeds they are sowing?
To driest canyons that sing with wind’s blowing?
Or to 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.
Doing a bit of housekeeping on the site. Added some new poems already, hopefully a couple more tomorrow. There should be some short bits of prose soon as well.
I’ve decided to dedicate this blog wholly to my art and writing, and have thus deleted reblog posts. If you want a stream of articles, fandom-related rambling, and other non-work-related stuff, you can check out my tumblr. I will also have a tumblr that mirrors this site and has some smaller stories and doodles, which can be found here (still under construction).
This site is likely going to see some visual changes as I spruce it up. If nothing else, I need to fix the banner so the bird doesn’t randomly show up in different places.
I’m going to preface this by saying this is probably the angst-iest poem I have ever written. On the one hand, I like the writing. On the other hand, it seems a little pretentious when I myself have never been in a war or lost someone to it.
I am, however, trying to keep a record of my writing, good and bad, and maybe this will resonate with someone more authentically. At the very least, we’re hearing a lot of war talk in the latest election cycle here in the U.S., and I very much hope whoever wins keeps in mind the civilian populace that is bound to exist in the same places that terrorists do.
Am I just one of millions?
Am I part of your analyzed cost?
I’m not a soldier, just cannonfodder.
I’m not a tragedy, just an acceptable loss.
I’m not a martyr, or even a name.
I’m just a pawn in your sick game.
I’m just a number, I’m not a person.
I’m just a death toll as everything worsens.
A simple factor of calculated cost.
And if I die, you say nothing’s lost
It’s all part of your proportional response.
Because I’m a part of your acceptable loss.
You say the good of the many outweighs the good of the few.
But what if that “many” didn’t include you?
What if everyone you cared for, all that you knew,
Were the cost, a sacrifice; what if you were the “few”?
Is this sacrifice no longer easy?
Does the size of those numbers finally make you queasy?
As you imagine them, every single face,
Give them your language, your religion, your race.
Don’t make them strangers, but your family and friends.
Would your acceptable loss be so acceptable then?
Put up my poems from my Creative Writing class from back in Nov/Dec 2010.
More stuff to come – more writing, hopefully some art. Let me know if you have any questions/comments/critique!