Tag: aimless

The Hermit Chronicles: Aimless

“The true adventurer goes forth aimless and uncalculating to meet 
and greet unknown fate.“
chymecindy
In the early dawn, the dark and the bright birth
My silver cage flew open, and I wandered,
Aimless
 
In the cool of the morning, the placenta of night
My foundling feet find rhythm, and I wandered,
Aimless
 
In the heat of noon, the umbilical light a rage
My downy wings grow furious, and I wandered,
Aimless
 
In the dying day, the flower of life now closing
My infant dreams lay in grasses, and I wandered,
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The Sound of Sirens

 “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” ― Edgar Allan Poe
heatherwanderer
I woke with a sweat drenched pillow, the dreams that enthralled me were just out of reach but I could struggle and recall them if I didn’t hesitant any longer and with that thought, I pulled back the sounds of voices, calling like the fine wind and string instruments of lyre and lute. The voices were right, wisdom echoed in their cadence as I found my ship drawn inextricably to their haunting direction. Have you ever smelled perfume? Not the cheap whorish variety that smelled like cotton candy but a subtle scent that lingered long after she left the room? That’s how her voice seemed, a wafting fragrance that captivated both mind and body and caused me to drift aimless but not so misdirected as one lost, for my wanderings found their home in her arms. Ok, now that I wrangled my dreams from their abyss, I can take my sweat soaked bedding and snap open a beer that waited for me in the icy bottom of the cooler. Simple pleasures, intense dreams, cold beer, what more could a man want from chasing the pleasures of his Queen? I could go on but would you be interested in the musings of one who gave his ear in desperation of love, or one who wrote under the influence of acid and heroin? If not for leisure, philosophy would find no fertile ground. How can you think when your body is burdened with heat, sweat and fatigue? Yet, as I grabbed the sweaty pillow, I was lying down, sleeping, and still I sweated with what? Passion? Work? What trick of nature is this? I’m still and yet my dreams bring labor, enough work to leave me exhausted. Perhaps I actually live a life beyond the awakened drudgery of normalcy? Society feels no compassion for the sweat obtained through dreams, and yet, that’s were the miracles of living are brought to a vivid reality. Yes, my thoughts are work, yes, that’s my job, and yes, from it I am weary and sweaty. I’m off to work again, don’t look for me on the street, my tasks take me to roads never seen, and I dance with voices never heard.