Wanderer

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Markets full of vibrant, swishing robes,

Movement dancing among tan, dusty long-roads;

Exchange of glass bottles in open-steet market cars,

Turbans and intricate up-dos, n' all those goods from afar;

Gold n' jade, silver n' turquoise, spices n' jars all on scales,

All manner of skin tone that never cease the unending sales;

Paintings and animals and dancing and shares

The hustle-and-bustle, for me, never wears;

For between open markets, or snowy lodge-posts 

Or island nations, or fancy old buildings with wealthy hosts,

I never tire of the endless sea

Or sky or land

It's all just one fun adventure for me

Wherever it be,  

Snow or jungle or city or sand.

Some say it must be lonely,

And perhaps it very-well is; 

But I have no desire to settle down, 

Start a family just because I'm a woman, that is.

Perhaps I don't want to get married and tethered down,

Just to get bossed around and left behind

Like "a woman always should." 

For I am a wanderer,

A traveller,

Through and through.

And you can't make a wanderer

Do what a wanderer doesn't want to do.

I Wander in solitude

Like a lone cloud across the sky.

For others this might seem lonely, 

But to me it is just fine. 

I know I've wandred too far from home

And I know I'm hoplessly lost.

But why do I care? 

I am a wanderer

No matter how far away from

Home I am

I still will wander on.

Darkness covers me

Like a wool blanket

I reach out my arms and feel .

Am I in a forest, surronded by trees?

Or am I in a dead city,

with no technology.

I have no way of knowing, this night is completly dark.

I do not know the way home, 

So still I  wander on.

Nonexistant home~

I travel up and down

Searching left and right

But there's something missing

In each place I find

There's something too much

Something un-needed

Haunting tunes, ghostly voices

The dust on the road

Sunset rise

I still cannot

Find a home

Morning, noon, evening, night

I travel 24/7

There's nowhere I call home

There's nowhere that's perfect

So I travel along the road

Where I feel completely fine

No haunting tunes

No ghostly voices

No whispers in the air

I meet so many people

All of different types

Indians, Americans,

Russians, Chinese,

All I know quite well

This place I'm getting tired of

I move to a newer life

A life of excitement

A life of freedom

Oh yes

This is what I wish for

This is my true home

On the road

Traveling.

Morning, noon, evening, night.  

There is my submission! I hope you like it, I didn't do very well, as it sounds more like a song, but that just might be me. I love everyone else's poems, too!

~Skyraa Amber~ 

PS  Amber is not a real last name I just made it up

PPS CAPTCHA says ezpon! 

I'd like to replace my earlier submission <3 

@Admins, on this thread, the page before this one, could you delete my comment with the poem titled 'birdman~' please?

iridescent~

the birds are all different colors but i

keep my eyes on the black one that sits

just above me on the oak branch, bending

slightly in the breeze, because if i

looked at the other colors my mind

would compare them to your clothes and

i would cry.

there's a reason you wore things that bright, you

always loved the attention, always loved the

spotlight, so i was a stagehand at your performance,

but when the curtains closed for the last time,

i stood on the cliff and i would've followed you down into

oblivion, but you always said to live life to its fullest,

so i'll try.

love is hard but this is harder, going on in

a world without you,

if you ever read this letter, just wanted you to

know that when you give me a sign, i'll follow

and we can wander together through the stars.

and you told me if birds can fly, then we can 

too, and the only thing i ever needed to

do was grab your hand, so here i am,

waiting patiently down below, watching

your rainbow-colored soul dance among the galaxies, 

and wishing all my shades of blue were up there with

you, so we could wander together, because

you told me you couldn't do it alone,

and i don't want you to.

OK, I deleted it.

Admin

endless streets

when the ache in my soul grows too loud to drown out, i shove my feet into worn shoes, pull the hood of my coat over my head, and close the weatherbeaten door behind me

i let my feet lead the way, wandering through the endless streets with no sense of where i was or where i will be, not thinking about anything in particular, but neither not-thinking about anything in particular

and i let the ache grow until i am consumed by longing, and my mind is an endless fog-filled hole stretching down, pulling me down, pulling everything but my feet, plodding one in front of the other

and the longer i wander, my eyes not focusing on my surroundings, my feet leading me in circles, the more the ache grows

until eventually, after an indeterminate amount of time, it starts to ebb, retreat back into itself

and i become aware of the feeling of my feet pressing into the ground, the chill seeping in through my coat, the unfamiliar street signs around me

and when the ache is gone so far that i can no longer remember what it felt like,

i hail a taxi

and ride home in silence

Haven't entered in a while... but here's my poem!

Labyrinth

I close my eyes against brazen torchlight

steady my hand against the wall.

I don't need my vision to know where to tread--

my feet are enough, scuffed shoes and stone floor.

The maze that I've wandered is burned in my eyelids,

the twists and the switchbacks that I've come to know.

I feel deep inside that there must be a way out:

I couldn't abide staying twenty years more.

My feet pulse in tune with the cool stone hallway

the path of my freedom, the path to my death.

I don't know what life would be like on the outside;

it's better, that I know down to my core.

I stumble, look up, eyes wide in surprise,

for this is a hallway that I've never seen.

This road has taken me, given me flight,

for I've never witnessed this ending before.

At the end of the path stands a door, unlocked.

My heart flutters hard. Is this portal a trap?

Do I take it, leave home for the knifelike unknown?

I have to decide. I count up to four:

One. I'm aware that my past stands behind me.

Two. I don't have a clue what lies ahead.

Three. My hand rests on the wrought iron handle:

I twist it, and grin as I walk through the door.