Wanderer

Wanderer

I see you in the half light of the moon
that peeks out through the thick veil of clouds
rolling o’er the mournful gray skies of early winter.
You, down the old cobbled streets, amid shadows
pitched from dirty alleyways - which hang and shiver
in the recesses of the night - as you wander in thought,
your coat collar pulled high against the chill.

And I have known the insatiable craving
- the ravenous creature seeping through your veins
I have seen your eyes go black, your hands stray,
your senses overpower – like a dog, trapped, panting
in the musty corners of a dim backroom -
You have nowhere to turn for relief.

Yet I can hear them echo all around you -
the whispers that distract you, the words
that petition you, the voices that beg, but cannot reach you.
The demand for something more than your faltering demeanor.
A misconception, a rising madness – that which threatens
to drown a voice, a dream that pulls in fated heartache.

From the deep swell of the sea it is calling:
the humanity gnawing in the pit of your stomach -
burning and rolling to a yearning – a meaning
to the motives, an outcome, a deliverance.

I am but bark, caught in the willows of an inlet sea
but if you sing, you sing for me – they cannot be silenced
Your feral cry resounds with one great breath
roaring o’er the open plains to where I rest

I see you on the edge of a bare, mown field
that sleeps in silence under a cold, heavy blanket
that listens to your soft breath, and the rustle of your shoes
that cradles and holds you in familiar solitude