I am

I am strange and wandering.

I wonder
if humanity will ever
become true and pure.

I hear
the voices
that scream and whisper,
cry and whimper,
laugh and giggle,
to tell me everything and nothing.

I want
to find the reins of
the gates of liberty,
equality,
and ideals
to pour over the minds of us all.

I am strange and wandering.

I pretend
that I can take away the pain
by murmuring
the reassuring lies
to all ears who listen.

I feel
the plethora
of the eyes that hope
and ears that strain
and hands that pray,
burning me.

I touch
the surface mirrors of the lives
that pass me by.

I worry
about the sins that we,
the ignorant,
cannot see
or truly correct.

I cry
when the stress
on my pride-filled shoulders
finally fall and I collapse
from the deceiving leverage.

I am strange and wandering.

I understand
that the world is hard to change,
that it's twisted and turned
yet so imperfectly normal.

I say
that while I cannot change others' minds,
I wish to influence them as they me.

I dream
of bubbly laughter and pearly happiness
that is true and everlasting.

I try
to help and guide
the lost,
teach them
as they teach me
and beg that they
do not stray too far
from the path I've laid out for them.

I hope
that they will not hate me
for finally speaking up
with my own voice
and my own thoughts.

I am
strange and wandering.



A/N: A poem that I wrote for my summer program, where the ArtWell organization had assigned me to write one (or a few). I read it today publicly and wanted to share it with you all, my fellow writers. It has been formatted differently than how I had written it, so some pointers, if needed, would be lovely. Feedback is so greatly appreciated! (: Thank you for reading!

Comments & reviews · 4
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User avatar
GrymmRipper Comment

This poem flowed so well. I like it a lot! Keep writing! ^_^

Thank you for the feedback! :D

User avatar
RainGrae
Review

This seemed like a carefully written poem. I love every detail that you put into it, and every thought that you spoke about. All the ideas connected with me, like someone was telling me my world's injustice & errors, innocence & dreams. It seems as if I can hear you speaking as I read. No matter how many times I read it, different thoughts always linger in my mind. I can't get enough of it! I hope you keep writing. It was an outstanding poem ^_^

Thank you! This makes me a bit more confident, since you hit on the hammer on what I was trying to do. Haha. XD Again, thank you for the feedback, it is greatly appreciated.

User avatar
StoryWeaver13
Review

I find it funny that you mentioned reading it aloud at the end of this, because by the second stanza I was like, "This would really sound great if someone was speaking it!" There's just a speakability about it, which is always good. It flows very well and has a really strong energy to it. I wish I could think of more to say...but really, this is a stellar poem.

Keep writing,
StoryWeaver

Aha, thank you so much for the feedback! I was hoping to be able to structure it so that it could be spoken, so this is a huge compliment for me.

I liked this poem, it really spoke to me. It was just so REAL, like a fountain of hopes and truth, worries and dreams. It's one of those poems that you can read over and over again and still be hit with the message.
Anyway, format, structure, and conventions wise it's all good. And everything creativity wise.
So overall, a very good piece.
My rating: 5*s
My favourite part: Aaaall of it
Keep writing!

w&w

Thank you! This warms me like you wouldn't believe. I'm happy that I was able to get my message across to you. It was rather scattered, after all. Thank you again for giving me some feedback, I appreciate it greatly. (: ~IRI



It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien