The Black & White Poet

100,901 poems read

Traveling




I stare at my surroundings
and realize
this is my odyssey
this is my tale

I sit under the willow
staring at the music sheets and love letters-
spread across the ground

I hear
in a distance
the angels
and demons
playing games

tapping my foot on the ground
and touching the water
which carries the spiritless
and dead dandelions -away

I haven't done anything
to take care of the grave…
to take care of the roses…
I've just sat here
for weeks
tapping my foot
thinking
asking for time
and more time
and more time
crying some
laughing some
I can't write about light
I can't write about darkness
instead I stare at past poems
ancient groans, jotted moans
…and wait
for fresh air…
…and wait
for a recharge…

I inhale the muck
and realize
I too,
am still alive
and everybody, too,
is still travelling


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Traveling