posted for stacy, with love.
...inspired by a great conversation with my friend jimmy.
Wanderlust
A movement. It’s in the air, in your bones… This revolution.
Go. Now. A purposeful stride with no destination.
To deny the impulse means an end,
trapped and suffocating.
Welling, ebbing from places no one ever knows,
inexplicable and unruly.
A shiver creeping down your spine, perhaps.
A broken spirit
mended only
by a journey
they’ll tell you is wrong.
But,
where do you turn
when every exit is blocked
and the map is in a language
you don’t understand?
Wanderlust
A movement. It’s in the air, in your bones… This revolution.
Go. Now. A purposeful stride with no destination.
To deny the impulse means an end,
trapped and suffocating.
Welling, ebbing from places no one ever knows,
inexplicable and unruly.
A shiver creeping down your spine, perhaps.
A broken spirit
mended only
by a journey
they’ll tell you is wrong.
But,
where do you turn
when every exit is blocked
and the map is in a language
you don’t understand?