Many worlds beckon in sing-song harmony

With fetching chords vibrating in distorted uniformity

The individual frequency of their universes

Your ears are pricked in anticipation

Of the melodious invitation

Their sounds served on the plate of luxury

An exotica enticing faintheartedness and bravery

To walk the tightrope of what may just be imaginary

An endeavour that ends mightily in futility

Or a balancing act on the unicycle of possibility

Into the hallowed enclave of nomady

When there was no heeding

And the bride, you, was absent from the wedding

And the chance to get the final word in

Limped into the offing of nothing

It dangled yet another vista

In desperate need to nourish the seedling

It showed people of great and terrible ability

And slaved to bind you to the thrills of their infamy

A codeine-strewn story

A joyride into utter mirth

Or an entrapment to butter and fatten for slaughtering

As has been done to those before you

New experiences hearken to its sauntering ally

They call for the one who always appeared

The phantasm of a memory shared

The very familiar afterimage on every film replayed

That knowing inkling that never reaches completion

A somebody-that-I-used-to-know

A rendezvous with a stranger whose face you remembered

Older experiences, sketches of a time with equal myrrh and blahs aplenty

A stale drink that slices the throat

Drowning in its now absinthe pool

Yet it bows obsequiously

Embodying its new purpose

A stooge to the waypoints of what has been

The psychopomp to your search for new pomp

Stop opposing it, lean into it

You and I are the same

We are not warring factions

And the future I offer is not in fractions

It is complete in its yield, its satisfaction

This is real, Take the step

Speak into your longing for the journey

You have the alchemy of words

And it has mettle

Cry “Avra kedabra”

Not of the magical sort

The one that stays near the truth

And create as you speak

Be bold, raise all cadavers

Buried in the comfort of sedentariness

Know that you’ve been handpicked

Handpicked to be freed

Freed from the collective’s domestication

Domestication, enforced strongly by its congregation’s directive to be held down

To be held down, by the hands of permanence and security

Security, provided by home and community

Community, sought because of a fear

A fear of the death sentence

The death sentence, for all who are fleet-footed

As they cower in fear

Tower over it and its smear

Answer the call

You know the path

It has been written on the walls of your heart

Answer the call

The call to wander, a sojourner’s being

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Wanderlust (A Sojourner's Being)