poetry
One of my more story based poems. I think this was influenced by the fantasy books I was reading at the time.
A man of travel (1993)
My hand does not feel the beating of
thine own heart,
My struggle does not fear the solitude of
each mans hatred.
A man from a quest.
Heartfelt renderings of a longheld journey,
rich in passion and small in favour.
The fire warms the traveller,
the storyteller begins a tale; dreams of past
glories; we have come far, have we not,
my friend.
From seas of fire and fields of winter, our travels are at
an end at last.
I have found my treasure. It was before me, I was
blind and could not behold the
magnificence in the self.
Now I am here.
Conflagration of dream and fact, we drift
on waves of silken thought.
Then it is over.
We must go my friend, our quest is at an end.