They say I am astray in the head,
that I walk barefoot over the coals
of hard experience and burn not;
that I am blessed by simplicity
or cursed by the vagaries of Fate.
Little do they know of me, those fools,
who huddle in the safety of their town
and never venture far from the limits
of their small minds. They know
nothing of the paths I follow.
The dark woods shelter and provide;
they are both hearth and home to me,
a sanctuary for the blistered soul.
The creatures of the forest speak
and the stars sing in the deepest night.
There is the true poetry of life;
there in the soul's solitude
and the boundless tracts of the mind.
There I will wander, finding my way
through imagination's uncharted realm.
A contest entry
- Insane Ramblings of the Hermit Poet by Great Cthulhu.
1200 points, ended June 11, 2008, 11 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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View Askew?
An impressive paradigm you've created here! My favorite stanza is the last, especially the last two lines, I love the imagery. In your second stanza I enjoyed the physical boundaries of the town matching the small minded nature of the citizenry. Well done! Keep your pen to the page and thanks for entering! -
Well said. Hardly insane ramblings.
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Wanderer Bound
I see a proud, weathered, dark, leathery-skinned, bitter man, walking away from all that he detested, only the further he goes, the closer it comes, opening his wounds wider, and he has yet to achieve detachment.
It is because the wound is open that so much can flow in.
It is because the wound is raw that he cannot forget the pain.
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