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The Effervescence of Girlish Youth
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The Wanderer As I grow older every year, my view of things becomes more fascinating.
Though maybe it is not life that is metamorphosing into this unfolding radiance,
But maybe, it is me that is growing and changing: captivating.
I’m budding and sprouting, unfolding and blooming.
But, I refuse to wither away.
As a child, everything I viewed as complex turned out to be so simple;
Though now, everything I thought was simple has revealed itself to be quite complex.
But maybe, each of my extending petals have yet to reach the surface of transparency, of true complexity.
I’m rippling and cascading, never wading and ever flowing
But, I truly wonder if glistening waters really do exist?
As my hands cling to the shape of my breast, they linger to imagine the touch by someone else.
Though they rain down my chest, my expectations of erotic pleasure turn to disappointed emptiness.
But, I can’t help but think maybe another’s touch would feel the same.
I’m fading and wanting: pounding yet numbing.
But, am I losing touch with reality or finding myself?
As I morph myself into the person I wanted to be, I question my own sanity;
Though, I cannot be sure if I am alone in this or these feelings are the most expected unilateral form of maturing.
But, there is a certain comfort that takes hold of me in my thoughtful isolation.
I’m soaring and seeing, rethatching and undoing;
Though, the most awful of breaths of complete lonely meaninglessness begins to suffocate me.
But, I want to be above it all.
a tree rises to the top, and
a tree rises to the top, and the birds enjoy them all the same, making their nests in the best, flying free until they fall. who is more free, one could ask, the bird or the tree? one is at peace, the other can see, though she doesn't live long the songbird can sing, though she's bound by the spell of hunger and rest, competing for sex, freedom is blessed but it's tiresome and lonesome, she may be happy but she soon will sleep, yet the tree will still be and at changing of leaves will be able to breathe, though smothered by weeds it is mindless in glee for all that it needs is the air and the sea.
i could tell you they are both very free, closer to God than you and me, and i think myself, that the very most free is the one who's in tune with infinity
This reminds me very much of
This reminds me very much of the kind of questing poems Walt Whitman wrote.
Starward
We Remake Ourselves
Over and over and over. At 66 I look for ways to connect but people world travel or go into lost state. Thought provoking poem, my friend. ~A~
Thank you! I was trying to so
Thank you! I was trying to do something melodramatic about the teenage all consuming thoughts of sex and fulfillment in respect to some flow of time. Even though it's kind of a stream of consciousness, I wanted her to mature in some way. So as the lines and "time" progresses, she has a newfound wisdom and sense of self
Very good write, loved it!
Very good write, loved it! Keep Writing!:)
Thank you so much! It's so
Thank you so much! It's so different from what I usually write and how I write for that matter. I really appreciate it!