The WandererA Poem by LastMonthCarving your own path is terrifying, but the other option is worse.
He left his home at the turn of an age,
His family shed no tears, his soul empty of rage, Chased away, rather then left by design, Alone he would march, followed by the moon's lonesome shine, At first he felt heavy, and then his steps grew light, Nothing lasts forever, not even the loneliest of nights, All that he loved, all that he knew, The place he was born, the place where he grew, But some things were just, not bad nor were they good, They were the way that they were, just as they should, One could not argue with the traditions of the past, And to leave his home alone, he would not be the last. Stars showed him the way, crickets sang to ease his pain, There was no time to mourn, there was so much to gain, Look behind he did not, For he knew it to be for the best, This was not some cliche, nor was it some test, A new home awaiting to be found, eventually he would, It might demand a fight, but he knew that he could, For when you grow old, home lessens in size, it is then you must leave, it is then you must rise. His mane was yet thin, and his neck did not hide, But he would carry on, one day he will make his own pride. His eyes remained calm, though his heart was boiling inside, What if there was no hope for him? What if everyone lied? A shake of his head, a thrust of his paw, a grin on his maw, a tail in his tow, This lion will search the world for his path, And the world will embrace the lion tightly, close to his heart. © 2016 LastMonthAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
1164 Views
22 Reviews Added on July 30, 2016 Last Updated on July 30, 2016 AuthorLastMonthTiberias, The Southern Galil, IsraelAboutI like writing, I suppose. English is not my native tongue, I picked it up at school and mostly improved it through computers. In my early 20's and would appreciate thoughtful and impactful review.. more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|