A Wanderlust (With German Language Influence)








A Wanderlust (With German Language Influence)



Wanderlust, or lost?

'Tis my halcyon feeling

—As was bespoken

View tula's Full Portfolio

The Happy Wanderer

Somewhere dazed and confused and in a coma,

happiness might exist without fear.

Beneath a wavering tree of Corsica,

a mourning dove might inquire, “what’s next”?

to which my only response might be a smirk of lingering liquor.

In a lively café of Verona,

one might gesture to sit with and embrace me,

to which my only response might be an indifferent nod accompanied by glossy pink eyes.

Across the Adriatic on an island I’ve claimed,

protected species might follow me and question my origin,

to which my only response might include floating away – vacantly focused on the sky.

Somewhere dazed and confused and in a coma,


happiness might exist without care. 

View mmmakaveli's Full Portfolio

The Old Travelers Eulogy

I’ve seen night skies

Only dreams could fathom;

I’ve wandered along the edges of earth

Because I did not believe in the stories;

I’ve met, and loved many strangers,

Each now gone, but a part of me;

And I’ve lived well, in days rich with laughter,

Wine, and sun;

I’ve loved this life—truly,

For every day was a gift unto me,

Given by someone or by something—

And there is no trick, no deep secret

To this, but then to receive.

But already, my words carry too long;

I am tired and old,

And time lingers too close a reminder—

I must push away now,

Off some unknown shore, to live one last adventure–

The grandest of them all—

My boat awaits, a ferry across the ancient river;

I’ve always wanted to fall asleep

Beneath the ocean spray—

View dguerrero10's Full Portfolio

The Metaphysicist


She was an aqua butterfly fluttering her iridescent in the frigid winds of the north 

Searching and wandering though she was not lost only to be found.


She hugged every morsel of the tree with reverence loving it and becoming it.


And she was all thoughtless we had but no mind of our own

But she swore by these paragons of deliberate hatred and what she wanted was to be a perfect memory to every man who was arrogant enough to experience her body.


She glittered with desire, breaking so easily, so tarnished, so gone. She was fooled and damp with hatred 

She knew from behind her back that she was nothing of my knowledge. 


She terrified me and chilled me to the very nomadic wanderlust of my soul.

And when she was recognized every part of the metaphysical realm came alive.

At two she rose and watched the butterfly fall beneath her waist and flutter

And those who fell broke to the scent of her glittering perfume, and the rubies and roses all became her through the damn wall she used to be me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

One of the first poems I ever wrote, I was about 13 at the time.

View hgsrthjdrtjrea's Full Portfolio