Wanderer

By Cliff Lake

 

Wanderer

 

The wanderer, set to a task unnamed,

Given just enough to set him on his way,

Prompted by riddling command,

And too many paths to follow.

 

A stumbler in oversized gear,

He grows in all the wrong places,

Hears lessons from too many teachers,

Culled from too near to him.

 

He swings a mighty cudgel,

Hitting almost where he aims,

Uncaring of the breakage in his wake,

Until he looks behind, too far, and too late.

 

He harvests where and what he wants,

Gathering beyond his means.

He will bear no burden,

The surplus rots where it is left.

 

His path has long got random,

He spurns maps he has not charted.

He circles his own track,

His compass left behind.

 

He seeks answers from himself,

His counsel is discovery in accident,

His wisdom too often erased,

Supplanted by the myth of himself.

 

He wanders all the void,

Its features all too distant,

And finds time to curse the fates,

That he pursues just the same.

 

His task lies yet before him,

A question with myriad answers,

All too easy to avoid,

As he evades the labor necessary to attain their gain.

 

Guided by too many signposts,

He treads the same roads always,

He accepts the same lessons ever,

And gets nowhere as slowly as he can.

 

Thus the years pass,

Thus the centuries accrue,

Thus the eons mount,

And he does not change as much as he remains the same.

 

So the wanderer goes,

His destination always beyond him,

His plodding never ceasing,

And we with him.

 

And we with him.

 

Cliff Lake 9/18/2025

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

Location: Americas

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