Wanderlust; A Poem

I feel the winds assemble together,
Each bearing some shard of thought or dream,
Til they mount up and break the tight tether,
And the heart's gust swoops up from the earth's mean scheme,
Then the settled soul becomes a feather,
And goes gliding on a wandering moonbeam.

My eyes can no longer hide that distant gleam,
Of the wind's whirl, of star-teased gypsy dream.


I've borne the North, South, East, West, on my back,
Til each whispered their own alluring sighs,
So I stuffed them all on an ancient bookrack,
Called, "Stability". -Now, their muffled cries,
Pierce my ears for my world-wafting backpack,
Which holds my confused self, cut off from all ties,

I'm sick of my moved heart telling unmoved lies,
Waiting for that which Fate clearly denies.


I define myself by the moment's hue,
Of what sky hangs, and what clouds swim by,
And now I feel the void of inertia's flu,
Coughing up the sound of some half-heard cry,
This place sulking gray, my heart panting blue,
Pining for some fresh, unknown land to try.

This, my bedazzled soul sprouts wings to fly.
Can it be? Every "Hello"s a "Goodbye"?