Your Wanderer

Something is sleeping within me; something yet wide awake

When the leaves are evergreen, they should seldom be raked

Floating are some sweet orchids in the skies flying above me

My amour has now dripped in me, and within me filled a sea

Wandering through the desert, and sometimes the land

The heart cannot fathom the distance stretched beyond

My soul cries always outstretching its imaginary hand

To go to her, blissful absence; my solitude is made of sand

The pearls of my tears which flow by missing you,

Your Gods are envious too, as they are so very true

The stars which shine each night, some night clouds

Tough they are far away, yet within me they never shroud

And as I walk, and see the souls stray in their oblivion searching

I ask them to go where they belong, or rest in their graves

And when they leave, this irony within me always is nurturing

I am your wanderer; you are my land, and your amour, my waves