The Journey

I feel misplaced,

Drifting and a bit lost

In this world of mine;

My life is

An evolving conundrum,

Ever disjointed and wistful.

While my body lingers,

Teetering on the edge,

My soul seeks

Days long past,

A time told

In treasured, gilded pages

Of books of old.

*

On this journey,

I search

In a perpetual kind of way,

Spinning and gravitating

To a nonstop melody

In the hidden realms

Of my mind.

I awake to find

(Or do I dream?):

I'm strolling on

Purple, heather strewn moors;

Wandering candlelit halls of

Murky Scottish castles;

Frightened in darkened alley ways;

Exploring an unending allure of

Spectacular supernatural tales;

Constantly perusing painted stories

Composed of only words;

In a courtly Renaissance dance,

Found wondrously immortalized

in Elizabethan plays;

And artfully in pursuit of poetry's

Emblazonment

Across my soul.

*

This night,

I sit alone,

Encumbered by the weight

Of such misplacement.

I wander and I write,

And in the daunting face

Of such tasks,

I long for inspiration

From so many:

Milton and the Bard,

The sisters Brontë,

Keats and Bryon,

Mary Shelley,

F. Scott Fitzgerald,

and Virginia Woolf's

Melancholic prose.

Beneath the guidance

Found only in the moon,

A dream finds wings:

May such masters seize

My wandering soul -

Conduct my pen.

Dare

I dream

Another:

For a faint and haunting echo of

Those glorious geniuses

Who fill my days?

*

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines! Sail away from safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover!” Mark Twain

*

For Gabriel Huizenga's "Lost-ish Unofficial Poetry Challenge", see link below: