The way I write,
day or night,
symbols and notions
filled with vibrant emotions,
whether a line or a tune
from the wind or the moon,
it would embrace me,
fill me and trace me
upon its own path
till it's all I have;
whether I break through the stirring surface of emotions,
battered by the winds of unsung change and devotions,
or born through the ashes of that which had died within
to rise and reshape all that has settled and always been,
I am but a wanderer,
open eyed wonderer,
a shut off soul,
not broken, nor whole,
just me,
a poet free.
The paths these follow,
whether vibrant or hollow,
merely a guide I have written,
I tried so it can be ridden
with magic, with tears,
with the insight of years,
or a bit of all, pray tell,
if not anything else,
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