deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Wanderer

Sit down by the fireside
And listen to my tale.

Now many a night has passed
On these long and lonely hills.
But no one has seen more of them
Than the Wanderer.

Who is he, you ask?
No one knows.
Hell, I don't think he does.
But he's always been here.

Sometimes at night,
When you're layin' awake,
Tired and restless,
You see him walking,
Just beyond the ring of light
From your fire.
You can call to him,
Invite him to join you,
But he'll just turn his head
And you'll see those sad, sad eyes,
And he'll keep on walkin'.

'Cause that's what he does, you see,
He wanders.
He could've been anyone-
A rich young man,
A poor old bandit.
He coulda been you,
He coulda been me.

But all we know
Is that he's walkin',
And walkin',
And searchin' for something-
What, even he doesn't know.

There's a piece of him in all of us-
A little part of ya that knows
There's somethin' bigger out there,
And that only those who search for it
Can find it.

So whenever you're out
On a dark and lonely night,
All alone,
No one to talk to but the stars
And the dust,
Remember the Wanderer-
'Cause he's still out there,
Walkin',
Lookin' for nothin'
And findin' it, too.
MythsComeAlive
Written by MythsComeAlive
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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