The Wanderer

The Wanderer in Daylight:

And you have no current regrets which you could call upon to struggle with, so you wander, in need of adventure underneath the solemn sun, hoping you are not the only one.

The Wanderer in Conscience:

Though you know you are wrapped in grace, why do you dissolve away?


Sitting underneath an apple tree, consulting the great sky king...


I hope the falling fruit cracks your skull and frees you of everything.


The Wanderer in Four Walls:

Pink walls and chinese fans, a place where the lights are low, here your heart calls for something beyond the wanderer's day glow.


Two beds not side by side, remind you of the missing pieces, its black without white making even the brightest colors look like diseases.


The clock is glowing, the lights are on and everyone's home, a traveler never really stays, they are always on the go, still you wish it wasn't so.


Despite all the wracking tension playing chess games on your head, sleep is an ocean tide washing you away in the strong moonlight, for now this is your bed.


This is where you can forget whatever miseries you pluck from thin air, this is the vulnerable open, calling for a wound, but you are undeservingly blessed and fearlessly bare.