silly

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if from this road i ever this stray,

would you be out there searching for me?

would it be a brilliant warming ray,

or a weeping downcast over me?

 

silly boy, wherever you go there i’ll be.

it may take a while, but i will find you.

when you’re lost, i’ll help you find your way.

even if you lose it all, we’ll just start anew.

and when you grow old and your hairs turn gray,

look beside you;

unfailingly, there i’ll be.

 

I’m gonna experiment with an ‘Author’s Interpretation’ section following my poems. They will be in white font, so you’ll need to highlight them to see.

Please give me some feedback as to whether it’s helpful!

 

AUTHOR’S INTERPRETATION:

The spark that set off this poem was the first line from Angus & Julia Stone’s ‘Get Home’:

If I ever, ever did stray
Would you come back
Come back to me?

I imagined a scenario where a man stands at (figurative) crossroads, where any decision he makes (and he must make one) will have huge repercussions on his life. He muses whether his adored one would follow him, or if the path is one he must walk alone. The rest should be pretty straightforward. :B

 

p/s: you may also request for me to write an Author’s Interpretation (AI) for any of my previous works.

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lost and found

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sometimes they talk to you.

you don’t know what to say.

other times they ignore you.

you’ll feel like you’re in the way.

 

we were content to be lost in mazes

and let hearts be locked in cages.

until the faces we had been seeing for ages

became strangers only vaguely known from pages.

 

when every single step forward

is first preceded by two backwards.

i am no good with words:-

all i am is awkward.

 

would you stop breathing if breathing became troublesome?

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Daylight was slowly but surely slipping away. My two companions continued bickering; I suspect they have forgotten why. In my silence, I wondered if we would have to camp out tonight again – a prospect that had long ceased to be pleasant.

But just as we began to tire, a town appeared on the horizon with its back to a setting sun so radiant it illuminated the otherwise dark skies with a warm glow of orange. From distance, silhouettes of windmills still in operation welcomed us; their rotating sails seemingly waving us in for a rest long due.

 

On our way to this town, I was frustrated with the numerous twists and turns that we had to travel through.

I wondered why the road had to have so many twists and turns.

It should have been obvious, but only now do I realise the forests and hills all around us – treacherous terrain which made going forward in a straight line, quite possibly and quite literally, a dead end.

So the road went around in random twists and turns. In my blindness, I had thought it a frivolity which made my journey even more difficult than it already was.

I now see they were childish protests.

In truth, the winding roads’ very winding nature afforded the people passing through, myself included, a much safer journey.

 

The long journey in the wilderness had drained me both physically and mentally, but in that one ethereal moment, I felt rejuvenated.

In some ways, it seemed almost inevitable, as if some divine force was telling me:

the high road is one that is long and winding;

the path is treacherous, and the winds are unforgiving,

but the end point is one that is worth persevering for.

 

This journey may have ended, but my pilgrimage continues.

I wonder if this lifelong path I tread will culminate, too, in a beautiful town somewhere, someday?