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No. 2 Remembrandt

A poem

By Alan JohnPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
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I always knew I was a wanderer at heart

When my hometown grew too tame

a jungle it became

My struggle is I don't know where to start following the compass in my brain

Wonders of this world to behold

Eifel into flight

journeyed North to see the lights

All of it as good as Irish gold, buried in the darkness of the night

And the drums of Africa are calling me

Like the rhythms of a land that I can't see

So I'm down here on my knees crying out

won't you please forgive me?

A prideful king who dreamed away his throne

his crown fell like his mane

while his tender heart grew vain

Wandering this barren land alone. Still, the wind is whispering his name

And the drums of Africa are calling me

Like the rhythms of a land that I can't see

So I'm down here on my knees crying out

won't you please forgive me?

I would go whatever distance trying to find home

Cause I've never known true comfort from anywhere I've roamed

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Alan John

I'm a Virginia based writer/musician looking to find my place in this wild wild world.

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