The Travels of Me

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The Travels of Me

I traverse alone, through the lonely land.
I am indifferent to the World’s troubles, strifes, quarrels;
I see not the bright colors, hear not the joyous noise
feel not cold, warm, tingle, sensation, anything.

People bustle by
Seemingly as cold and uncaring as I
But I see them not
I am wrapped in a cool darkness.
It envelops me, surrounds me
keeps me safe, secluded.
As I walk, I am shadowed by it

Traveling, traveling, traveling.

Suddenly, the light breaks through the shadow, blinds me.
The noise bursts through, makes my ears bleed.
Sensation invades me, and I scream with the agony of it.
Acrid smells burn my nose, make it cry out, as I cry out.
I beseech the skies, Take me away from This, this turmoil
Flee! Let me flee this awful climate of chaos. Ohhhh!!!
I wail and lament, cry for freedom, cry for escape
As I begin my deterioration, my burning, my end…

Then, slowly, subtly, the darkness surrounds me again,
coos me, coddles me
Cools my burns, soothes my ears
I am cushioned, healed, understood.

As the echoes of my suffering cease,
I forget them, purposefully or not.
They are not there, just as men are not there.
They are nothing.

Slowly, I rise
healed, whole, scarred, empty
and I continue my journey,
through the dead world of men.

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In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

Malthias3’s Poems (2)

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Perpetual Alone-ness 0
The Travels of Me 0