The Ragamuffin Kid

occasional rumblings of the bedraggled, beat-up and burnt-out

My Photo

I am a traveller on my way Home, passing through this little land. It's a lovely place, though nothing compared to where I'm heading, I was told. I have journeyed through several valleys. Not the kindest place I must say. But hey, I've had some "mountain top" experiences too. They made me long for Home. I heard there are no valleys at Home. I have met some fellow travellers along the way. But mostly find myself among locals. If you're local, please bear with my quirkiness. I know my accent and ways are puzzling sometimes. If you're a fellow traveller, keep going. We should be reaching soon. Bon voyage!

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Mourning the Loss

On my own, but mostly the savannah,
Where the tumbleweeds fade away and die,
Before the glassy sun burns a summer of crystals,
The glistering waters of the high seas
A place as far as of where vultures roam.

I looked around but you weren't anywhere...
I used to think we were immortal,
What we had would never die.
Like rings on an old cedar,
Stronger and wider with age
Time was a friend.

Now the sea is wild with despair,
Deep blue like a prairie of flowers blue.
I saw you at the end,
You and I, as near as the breath upon our faces,
Before death in fancy costume led you away.

Eyes once sparkle with hope now full of tears,
Bitterly falling one after another into a river,
Then the river of life turned red in blood.
I watched in horror.

You disappeared without saying good-bye,
Not a word came out of your mouth.
You became like desolation in its grave.
When once the skies were a realm of stars
And the sun shone brightly in summer skies,
You were there to share the calmness;

But now I stand here in midst of the tall grass
And only the savannah remains.

(Adapted from an original poem by Artur Hawkwing. Picture from PBase Galleries)



Post a Comment

<< Home