The SeekerA Poem by Buck ThomasGone and seeking, The tribalist breaks out. Divisions drawn without consolation. Cultural identification bears off. Is there refuge for the seeker? He stands without materialism. Trialling for purpose. All I ask is for water and warmth. My utility is love. Protector of souls. I wasn't necessary for the tribe. Laborer of callused hands. A tool, worn. God, do you hear my call? I'm becoming weak. My knees are red from prayer. I'd walk for 30 years. I want direction. Wake me! The desert was dry and cold. I was alone. Identifiers of my existence. Epic stories in convergence. I found my history, Now I'm home. <span class="post_sig">www.ruggedwritings.com</span>
© 2015 Buck Thomas |
AuthorBuck ThomasHellPaso, TX, United States Minor Outlying IslandsAboutWell, hello. I am a vampire social misfit and a rather grouchy tempered weirdo. I am in a series of weird depression, and I love indie, alternative, french, and some good goth music. My real name is .. more..Writing
|