The Wanderer Flee

Flee is the name of a guy who often wander at the beach and the poem is from sand's gaze.

A clay I loved while married to sea

To engrave the footprint of wanderer Flee.

To the very close rock,

A man sat, eager to talk.

The wanderer knelt,

To pick up that shell

Greatest in all those withered 

To catch his eye nowhere but hither.

Pale eyes and a coat of great size

To look mystic or to hide the body's price?

I would not look into his eyes

My own reflection? The affection flies.

Passed the man from the rock,

The very human eager to talk.

He joined the young man,

On the walk on sand.

They marched together,

More of a minute forever.

The man asked

 ''Where to?"

Not he promoted any ballyhoo,

He instead asked,

Removing his mask-

“What past interest thee,

To stand and walk towards me?

Is there no one to sing,

Or it's just thy wondering zing?

Approaching a dark cloud,

Is a dangerous thing for crowd.

Thou aware, they rain?

Paint a bright nice day vain.

Speak thee curious mind

Many quests, I do find.

I hath not spoken this many words,

This is surely my flood.”

The man eager to talk,

Carefully continued the walk.

“I walk with thee,

For I want to see.

What bothers thee, brother?

I am no other,

To peep and ask thy pain,

To dig too deep thy ache.

I may, am the crowd,

Yet I am allowed

To grant my hand,

To one poor friend

In pain, in peace, in need,

In rage, in joy, to feed

Thy hunger of whatsoever cause,

For once I promise, it will pause.

Walk with me till I please,

On thy word, our walk shall cease.”

Said the man who forgot the rock,

The very man, eager to talk.

“I am splendid in this day,

I shall be splendid even after it fades.

I am no mystery,

I don't demand a history,

Like what my swollen eyes may tell,

Or whatever my attire sell.

I hath not been halted,

I am not rather faulted.

My eyes die to praise,

Why I have this corpse face.

It is just, no soul yearns,

That why my heart burns.

I once wrote my mother,

Thou shall not want it brother.

When a man turns to its source

The one it loves with unbeatable force,

Comes depressing in many ways,

Why then a man would want to stay

In a world so vile,

Worthless walking a mile.

Thou asked my being,

Thou must feel fleeing.

My gloomy aura repels,

But here, take my shell.

I must remember thou,

In my dreams, my mind shall sough.

I shall repent my wail

For the hour or so thou failed.

I hath not spoke this many words,

This is surely my flood.”

Cried the lonesome wanderer Flee,

In a beach, two humans no tree.

Laughed the man eager to talk,

Breaking the silence of dark dissembling walk-

“Thou mistake me as human,

I am just a mere crewman,

Playing a part in thy own play,

I am saying what thou want me to say.

Thou would not repent any word of thine,

After this act, thee gave me no line.”

It was a beach, one human, one tree,

Just sea, me and the wanderer Flee.

Wordwine

Author's Note

I have always praised solitude in my writings and I wish I could enjoy it for the rest of my life but sometimes I seem distracted and I make deep conversation with myself.