~ Poetry by me ~
On the Road
They´ve called me wayward as the wind
that blows as ages yore;
I´ve wandered for a thousand years,
I´ll wander thousand more.
I´m far as dreams, which in the morn
your memory still haunt;
near as the moon, that in a lake
your grasping fingers taunts.
How can you trust me? Like the air
between the earth and sky
I will not catch you when you fall,
but teach you how to fly.
Now city streets are my domain,
as once deserted ways,
like human hearts a wilderness,
I walk their hidden maze;
I will elude you like the breeze
unseen amidst the crowd;
I would be everywhere you turn,
a guest you can´t keep out;
Perhaps I´m wearing hobo rags
and squint at you an eye
while you, on daily business bent,
are sure to pass me by.
You´ll never know me just from books,
my masks the scholars fool:
The map is not the territory,
the facet´s not the jewel.
© 2005 Michaela Macha
- This poem is in the
Common Domain and may be freely distributed
provided it remains unchanged, including copyright notice and this License -
Image: © Paul Doherty