The Wanderer

© Kareni/Pixabay

From brine that comes and goes

Across hot sand

Into hills and plains and groves

My shadow tells the time

And ratchets around my toes

The mist falls from the ground

And plays where it arose

Then heights shrink underfoot

As my eyes dry by what blows

I blink and turn

And see the shiny skirt

From under I was born

The air where I have come

Stretched and silent

Quiet screaming tranquil peace

I wonder and I wander

How high can something go

The Wanderer thinks in prose

Sit and meditate

The idle to create

Ever higher lows

The Wanderer thinks in prose

Published by dbmoore0727

***All views are my own*** I write commentary on current world events as well as short stories and book reviews. My first book, Where the River Flows - Memories of the Shadow Age, can be found on Amazon (free with Kindle Unlimited). I attended Arizona State University studying neurochemistry. I've worked professionally as a ghostwriter and managed analytical laboratories in supplements and pharmaceuticals, as well as operated as a consultant and technical writer for academics and companies in the science and engineering fields for over ten years. I've been writing creatively all my life. I hope you enjoy the content -- I want my readers to feel empowered to comment and critique as they feel compelled.

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