Sojouner of Truth
Enjoyers of the traveling days, all should be so lucky. My companion and I were stranded at a train station. A thunderstorm so bright with lighting crashing, we wrote youthful words by dimly lit candles. Flickering in your eyes I see no roused worry. Across your face no exhaustion exhibited. But two travelers, up all night giddy as school girls, have breath and rest and youth to carry our fresh bodies on through, our now dark journey. Sojourner, sleep will be my partner tonight. The excitement I burst forth with, all to be ethereal.
Oh, lovely train trip. All scattered through these dark and lonely plains. After the shower stopped, I’m in the distant. I hear a baby bird crying out for its mother. Mother I am soaked and cannot fly, here I am.
This dark withdrawn night came along a universal path. One of destruction aimed right at the petulant travelers. The sky cracks with lights. Voicing out in precession, are we mad, turbulent, dissatisfied come wail and shout with us the weary. The thunderstorms, the crossroad hunters, us. We have love of men forgotten, the un-marrying type. We experience not the closeness of women, a friend, companion and love to hold my hand.
I am the lone sojourner. The traveler, my scattered rug baggage, a storm for my paths way. Like little bird all drenched, chirping out, here I am love. Dry my tears for years, I long for you men and women to gently kiss my streaming cheeks dry again.
On just this side of trouble, I lie so very still. Rejected by love. Used by my fellows and their incessant jokes. Laughing they take my youthful beauty away. To have but never hold, never one touch of compassion. I am too proud to act beautiful and baffled. For my knowledge of romantic love not only run sadly back home, but still stately longs for my companion and lovers fine caress. Truthfully, but never-the-less, my solace in my deepest of moon absent midnight. Oh woman where shall thee be? Your subtle friendship, agreeable to me, I more than wish for you. I hope to suddenly find you waiting at the crossroads for me. Send me not away. My ironical need to call out for the gentle breeze of your breath.
Copyright © Andrea Travis | Year Posted 2015
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