In the spirit of traveling and returning from travel, I thought I'd change it up a bit and show you all an original poem of mine that is a bit...odd, to say the least.
I was filled with purple fire
brought on by my wine. Desire
to see lands unknown, to venture
from little home
& great world stir! --
took hold of my reeling dreams
where things unknown
and things unseen
Little wandering, wondering bandits
little white dresses wore,
(in my dream) and it made me snicker.
For each promiscuous, pretty poppy
drugged me from my cadaver-state, and
my death (elate!) was ended then.
So I stood and went
to meet the lords of Fay and Tale
beyond my door.
Beyond my door! -
where, but once, I'd never been before.
And so, in Alice fashion, went
And spoke with each mad miscreant.
I thought myself
than I'd ever been before,
but shrugged and drank
two purple fire-glasses more.
Then seeing several gazing birds
with mangy wings,
of mangy words,
I sat down with a feather quill
to pen a mangy, rhyming trill
And then in thrilling message spoke
to the sun - heliotrope -
chose to have a spot of fun.
So I giggled and right then swore
I would nev'turn to my door.
And as of yet, I have not
for the world
is filled with things unsought and known
and I am ready to see and know
and No! I won't
For I am penning, as I walk,
(along a walk in this world)
a letter to my dearest Isabel
whose drugging wine and opiate
have served me well. Oh, Isabel,
who knows how to satiate
with one's own insane thoughts
innate and known to her since
Elate, elate! And feel my mirth!
for my death is done! I will climb every tree
and wander (free) toward the sun!
Until the east becomes a door
through which I'll step
and, for with wanderlust I'm sore,
fall and die and laugh again
(oh, 'Bel will hear it!)
as an ever-wandering spirit.
That poem is from several years ago, and, while I'm certain I could do better now, it means something special to me this way.
Yours, in words and espresso.