The Wanderer’s Lament

The Wanderer’s Lament, Spoken Aloud
In Distant Lands

You were once so
Wild. So much like the
Dirt picked up on broken
In shoes that stormed off
On cool mountain days. Once

You had descended into
Dark pyramid holes. Sweat
Staining a hat burned by
The stern sun. A wild,
Unshaven, sun-mad man
Unable to come home. Yes,

You could not be found except
In postcards and in the vague
Memories of midnight baristas who
Brought you a café and cream. You
Who were known by the wind that
Blew up bits of tattered paper, or
The ripped out sections of guide books left

On tables by steep mountain cliffs
Where you drank wine and ate olives
Picked from the fertile fields
Below. You,

The traveler the wanderer and
Lone man lost to crowds by dark
Cathedrals lit only by bent
Candles near pale,
Beckoning saints.

You, I think,
Were here once…

11 thoughts on “The Wanderer’s Lament

  1. whimsygizmo May 17, 2016 / 11:17 pm

    “A wild,
    Unshaven, sun-mad man
    Unable to come home.” — what an intriguing character you paint here. I love this.

    Like

  2. banya sigh May 17, 2016 / 11:17 pm

    I could read this a hundred times and not love it any less. Excellent work.

    Like

  3. Sanaa Rizvi May 18, 2016 / 12:11 am

    Lovely!! Such a vibrant and passionate write 😀

    Like

  4. jillys2016 May 18, 2016 / 12:39 am

    While I frequently look at end-words, your first-words pack so much Pow! There is a command to the voice of this poem and it adds to the character. Well done!

    Like

  5. Walt Wojtanik May 18, 2016 / 1:31 am

    A character with so much promise and so many stories to tell! Loved walking in the shoes of the Wanderer!

    Like

  6. Grace May 18, 2016 / 1:42 am

    I admire the writing very much…from the wildness to the bent candles in the end ~ You captured the wanderer’s spirit ~

    Like

  7. Björn Rudberg (brudberg) May 18, 2016 / 4:58 am

    I do love how you focus on details like his midnight coffee and that olive dinner.. The wanderlust is so much more than sights isn’t it. Like Bruce Chatwin travels.

    Like

  8. Gemma Wiseman May 18, 2016 / 10:20 am

    Your wanderer seems almost ‘happy’ to be unknown… just leaving postcard footprints. Quite a dramatic profile.

    Like

  9. kim881 May 18, 2016 / 10:41 am

    Absolutely adore the final stanza.

    Like

  10. freyathewriter May 18, 2016 / 7:23 pm

    Lovely detail, telling such story of a person. Yes, I loved the last stanza.

    Like

  11. katiemiafrederick May 18, 2016 / 10:01 pm

    WandeRinG ClOwns
    oF WisDom gRow..
    no man or
    woman
    owns..
    freeDom gRows
    Ocean deep eYes
    sO cLear.. diRt oF
    feeT
    EaRTh
    gRows wArm..
    FreeDom IS A dirT
    oF Body thaT kNows
    oNly earTh and fLesh
    iN sweAt Of Sun bRight
    Hunt.. forAger for LiFE..
    LiVer oF LiGht.. so lost
    so lost.. wE are in
    cubicles
    gOne
    dArk..
    iN screAM
    oF Scree@noW..:)

    Like

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