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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/949401
by Fyn
Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #949401
Each of us travels a journey...
The Wanderer


I am in my forest.
A place that only I can see.
A wondrous world of green and light-
Where nothing and no one can bother me.
A place where I am free from pain:
where I can begin to live at last
Where I can know and learn and grow
beyond the horrors of my past.
It grows more clear as time passes,
I begin to see with clarity
and as I see and search and find
I grow beyond past cruelty.

I hear a sound beyond my ken:
Soft as a whisper yet not a word,
light as angel's breath and yet
the steel edged keening of two swords.
The more I'm in my greenwood,
the more that I can see and hear:
a voice that seems beyond the void
and yet, I hear it, crystal clear.
The tone is deep yet isn't loud,
an accent strange yet understood.
The voice is calming, peaceful, strange
as it commands to explore my wood.
I wander and explore at length
finding paths before unknown to me
wondering, as I yet must wander;
what has all of this to do with me?
I hear the sounds of water tumbling:
crystal green yet white with foam,
sparkling, cleansing; I am drawn within it...
Standing there I know I'm home.

The morning next benear the falls,
I found a cloak of wondrous green
that seemed to shimmer in the light
I was beyond wondering what it might mean.
It became a daily process
to cast aside the cloak I wore
and stand beneath the crystal streams
and learn that I am so much more
than ever I thought that I could be,
standing naked in the light
letting the waters caress my soul
and letting grief fade in the night.

I also found a cabin in a glade of greenish hue...
Surrounded by flowers all in bud
as if yet waiting a day or two.
It had a most unusual door
covered in carvings of animals rare
unicorns and pegasi
guarded the words written there.
The longer that I examined the door.
the clearer the carven words became.
It spoke of a wanderer to come
once he'd escaped a mantle of blame.
I could not get the door to open,
yet it wasn't locked that I could see
and then I saw the words come clear:
the Ones it would open for did not include me.

While walking in the glade one night,
I heard the voice begin to speak
It Named me Seeker yet knew I not
of what or whom I was to seek.
Twas then that I began to sense
that I was not alone
that others traveled in my glade
that others wandered in my home.
At first I cried, This place is mine!
I wanted no intruders here
but then I heard the voice again....
without words he made his meaning clear.


When worlds collide and eons swirl
when entities become as one
when meaning must be redefined
then out of darkness comes the sun.
When millennium stretches out its hand,
when strangers meet as long lost friends,
when the time becomes its birth-
your solitude in here must end.


I was told that I was more than Seeker
that I was teacher and yet would be taught
and tangled up with all of this
was the wanderer I sought.
My journey is not over.
Why is he here in my green place?
This is my sanctuary, my forest.
I did not invite him here...I pace
and search for answers, eventually they come
that there are many wanderers
each in his own time and space
and each is on a journey
which he may or may not be willing to face.

He wanders thoughtfully my forest,
lost beyond and through the trees.
Ever beyond the call of my voice
ever beyond the sound of me.
An entity invades my light,
yet I am told he is the one
the searcher, the wanderer
at long last, he has come.

But for what purpose I pose this question,
if naught for me then why wanders he here?
He needs you comes the answer;
you will help his focus clear.

I follow in the shadows
my cloak masking my thoughts from his
Hooded yet I follow him.
Deeper, deeper in the trees
Emotions flood from within this wanderer
The pain cuts deep within my soul
yet my purpose is to accept his pain
and in doing so....let him be whole.

He has to let go of what's holding him back,
I am told I will hold what he has to give,
that it's necessary he shed his grief
for he has to have room to grow; to live.
For right now he's merely searching
which path; for what, he does not know.
And I am picked to guide, to help him yet
Know I not where he must go.

I sense his yearning, sense his pain
I see him stumble, nearly fall,
I feel his shiver, feel his cold
while bright sun streams, warming all.
I see that he cannot feel its warmth
I sense he wanders befogg-ed, blind...
I cannot touch him, nay nor speak
to him at all except with my mind.

I watch him from behind the oak,
see him circle, clearly lost
watch as he tires, numb with cold
and know so clearly what the cost
would be should I be seen,
and yet I yearned to let him see
which path to take, which path to trod
yet this too ...was denied to me.
I tried to send him thoughts of hope
I tried to send him thoughts of knowing
I tried to send him warmth and comfort
I tried to shield him from the blowing
snow I knew that he was feeling,
cold and fog and pain , despair...
I tried to ease his mind by taking
all the emptiness I found there.

Then to him it was the morning...
now one path led to his day
and though I knew he'd find his cabin
I followed behind and led the way.
One last time I called his name
yet, he knew not, that it was he
For he was not yet the Finder
that he would one day come to be.


© Copyright 2005 Fyn (fyndorian at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/949401