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Poem

Of the JOURNAL I hold in hand, 
pages flutter with the breeze... 
for I'm lost in its words, I'm lost to the distant seas.
O voyager who scribed the tale, 
whom did you meet and what did you see? 
What whimsical for a land must it be... 
for me to get lost in its scenery? 
Excavations of the EMPIRE and tunnels running deep, 
the legends of the past and the ancient tree! 
Oh, you met the Bards? what did you hear? 
Songs of the glorious past, and forgotten love for tears... 
O BARD of the distant past, I ask thee... 
the stories you tell and the tales you sing, 
are those truths or just mere fantasy? 
"Truths, sire," they speak "most of 'em. " 
Wanderers in a wanderer's tale, I see. 
O voyager, there's not much left of it 
the pages still flutter under the breeze. 
Tell me more, for I'm not near appeased. 
A lost tribe in mid forest, you say? 
what'd they eat, and how'd the children play? 
long harpoons for hunt and the eldest did the slay. 
ELDEST gets the first meat, hierarchy, you see. 
Holding the people strong, living atop the largest tree! 
And what more did you see? What stories could you tell, 
 Ah, when did the BARD leave? 
the last page fluttered, I'm still lost. 
How did your voyage end... 
Do you think we'll meet again, O sightseer of the tale?

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