Best Wayfaring Poems
Ecological
Wanderings boggle the mind,
But inspire new hope.
On the boundary,
We mingle with new species,
Those yet to be born.
Our patience is tried,
Wanting quick evolution.
We can only wait.
Our tentative steps,
Venturing through the peat bogs
Get mired in the muck.
Real dangers are felt,
Earthly forces pull us down.
But we must still move.
"We should not be here!",
We protest in the moonlight.
Still, life excites us.
On the margins here,
We are all wayfaring now
Searching for answers.
Wayfaring heart please let me be
Wanderlust inside of me
Dreams of days upon the sea
Wayfaring heart please let me be
Longing to go back to Kingston once more
Walk along the sun drenched shore
Watch the horizon at the break of dawn
Spend a few days in Old San Juan
Wayfaring heart I still miss those days
When time stood still for my wandering ways
Bodies swaying while the music plays
Wayfaring heart I still miss those days
Tropical island and beach with white sands
Paradise within the reach of my hands
Coke and rum on the warm summer nights
Island glowing from stars and harbor lights
Wayfaring heart please don’t let me cry
Warm Caribbean is where my memories lie
Tears in her eyes when I told her good bye
Wayfaring heart please don’t let me cry
Someday all of my bridges I’ll burn
To that tropical paradise I will return
From her loving arms I will no longer roam
Wayfaring heart we will finally be home.
A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
Is humble and serene,
As we display, a brand new leaf,
He celebrates the scene.
He knows the name of everyone,
Who stops to say hello,
Because, He radiates the sun,
And purifies the snow.
He rains upon the famished earth,
A warm and welcome shower,
Because, He knows, a humble birth,
Reflects, a higher power.
His treasure is a broken heart,
A virtue of the meek,
Because, He knows, a humble start,
Will help you turn the cheek.
He magnifies, our righteousness,
By how we serve the poor,
And when the flock is hungry less,
The appetite is more.
A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
Is stronger by the mile,
Because the source of His relief,
Is longer by the smile.
We do not know, and cannot tell,
What pain we put him through,
And yet, we know, the mercy bell,
Is what he offers you.
You may not recognize the man,
As someone you should sing,
And yet, we know His master plan,
Is worthy of a King.
I marvel by the greater light,
Of one who leads the way,
Who bled for me to win the right,
To rise above the fray.
A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
Is with me when I walk,
To shepherd me in my belief,
And join me in His flock.
"The evidence of yesterday,
Is what we disallow,
The future is a better way,
To live our lives right now."
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A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
Hath passed me on my way,
And though I stood in disbelief,
He stood in disarray.
I felt some need to comfort him,
To share his heavy load,
And yet, my fate was also grim,
And mutual, our road.
I thought about a future day,
When all the world is kind,
And love is not a word to say,
But more, a peaceful mind.
I followed him, to find our place,
Beneath a Poplar tree,
But when I gazed upon his face,
I saw the man was me.
I did not speak a kindly word,
Or treat him very nice,
Because my shame was still preferred,
To giving him advice.
I thought about a quick retreat,
To expedite my way,
I would not hear of his defeat,
In words of yesterday.
But when he turned to look at me,
I knew that it was so,
The young man that I used to be,
Was someone I should know.
I knew that he was all alone,
A victim of my past,
But when he found my comfort zone,
We stood and wept at last.
I knew that he was sad and low,
A desperate place to be,
And yet, he had the strength to show,
How much he cared for me.
Because he fought for my relief,
He set my spirit free,
A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
Is rich enough for me.
A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
May struggle as it seems,
To walk the road of disbelief,
And snuggle with his dreams.
Although alone and feeling low,
He does his very best,
To edify the ones who know,
The meaning of his quest.
Although he soars above the crowd,
To catch the morning sun,
He hides behind the glory cloud,
Until his day is done.
He cannot see how love survives,
Without a single soul,
And so he strives to make our lives,
A diamond in the coal.
His story is the glory,
Of the Father and the Son,
Our role is mandatory,
For the battle to be won.
He may not shine this image,
By the lineage of his tree,
And yet, the line of scrimmage,
Is the courage people see.
He may not race to set the pace,
Of those who plant the sod,
And yet, his place deserves the space,
That tribulation trod.
A poor, wayfaring man of grief,
Is not so bad to me,
He celebrates a pure belief,
In love and honesty.
He radiates the rainbow,
In the afterglow above,
The steady flow of those who know,
The colors of his love.
The story of his sadness,
Is the madness we embrace,
The glory of his gladness,
Is the human in our race.
A poor, wayfaring man of grief is good enough for me,
Because he lives the way he gives, without pomposity,
He gives the way he grieves for us, and leaves for us, to ride,
A ticket for a train or bus, without a shifting side.
Our path and pick will do the trick, to ride the righteous wind,
For there, the laws are like the jaws, that no one can rescind,
The click and clack are for the track, the train is for the stars,
The tick and tock are for the clock, the victory is ours.
The Milky Way is child's play, for those who spin the gold,
The Master's pay is on display, for those who join the fold,
The mansion on a hill, you see, is not a home away,
But more, a joyful destiny, for living day to day.
O dearly, dearly, has he loved, our Savior, Lord, and Light,
For he has made, the Lit Parade, to save us from the night,
Our older brother, like no other, paid the price of sin,
And when you think, about the brink, you brake for all your kin.
The kinder man, regards the plan, the pinnacle of love,
The perfect price, to take advice, from His abode above,
To walk the Halls of Glory in a reverent way to feel,
To tell the ageless story of the Lord and His appeal.
When Stephen saw the Master's awe, he glorified His name,
And testified before he died, the Biblical proclaim,
The witness of the Holy Ghost, the testimony true,
The glory of the Father and the faith in Heaven too.
The trip is worth the travel and the travel is the sky,
The sun above is full of love for those who like to fly,
The fashion of your vision is a mansion on the hill,
And all the kin who pull you in are working with a will.
If you are a disciple or the Captain of your Soul,
The early train is pulling out with room to make you whole,
The poor, wayfaring man of grief is glad to take you in,
For sin is not the sinner but the winner deep within.
A poor, wayfaring man of grief, has shared his truth with me,
For he has walked the winding road of life's great mystery,
Behold, the man, the truth at last, is ready to be shared,
His message is for one and all, his banquet is prepared.
The happiness, that people seek, is not a faster pace,
Our emptiness, may reach a peak, without a plaster face,
The truth is not a new belief, or some mythology,
A poor, wayfaring man of grief, is very real to me.
Yet happiness, is common, in a craven sort of clash,
The natural man, rejects the plan, but not the petty cash,
And those who build a fortune, are the breed of our success,
For those who need a portion, have to bleed for happiness.
For happiness is how we care, a sacrifice for good,
A sumptuous feast that we prepare, by living as we should,
A by-product of our success, in what we say and do,
A blessing in the way we bless, our friends and neighbors too.
But by-products are not the aim, the purpose that we share,
Fulfillment is the greater good, the reason that we care,
If money is the welcome mat, a portal people seek,
Then happiness is growing fat, a flavor of the week.
So here we are, and here it is, the purpose of a man,
And happiness, though good for us, is still an also-ran,
The purpose of humanity, collectively, I know,
Is feed the soul with kindness and with love to make it grow.
For this reward of loving, is the quality of joy,
And joy is the fulfillment of the gifts that we employ,
Happiness is fleeting but our joy goes on and on,
Like morning dew is fading, but the green is on the lawn.
A poor, wayfaring man of grief, has taught these truths to me,
The sun and moon and stars above are less than even He,
I know him for the one he is by how he makes me feel,
For even when I slip and fall I know his love is real.
The sea stretches across a vast expanse
Blue and white, do the waves prance
As a boat struggles to stay afloat
When the waves draw themselves to their height entire
The folks crouch down and say oh sire!
Spare us of your wrath
For sinners and saints are we
And by every decree
Shall we adhere to our values
With a kind heart and a spirit free
The sea reduces to a mere dance
Its waves gentle as snow
Blue as the sky speckled with froth white
The orange sun now sheds light
Giving rise to a day anew
As golden and blue intersperse
Creating a sight spellbinding to man's eyes
In simplicity lies its beauty
Engulfing folk in mirth and joy
The ship peacefully sails ahoy
He’s a conniving, wayfaring vagabond
Roaming around with nary a bond
He was a delight
Casanova all night
Many women became totally fond.