The Wanderer
I wander without trace,
A faceless mask,
No home or place.
You are the one thing in my life,
The water to my thirst for juice;
In a cold and desert place.
Where are your hands, little one?
Can I be the ones you lost?
Was it painful when they cut them off?
and took away your tongue.
Still it is you I want,
More of your liquid in the cave;
And in your eyes,
Where ravens fly;
I see a tunnel through my haze;
Golden light!
A great gold opening,
So very bright;
and there you stand,
Beckoning me once again...
So take my hand,
Let's fly.
~ Gifts to the Goddess ~
Poetry of Innocence
