I wonder what that feels like...
it seems desperate,
constrained,
trained.
stepped over the line,
pushed past the rope.
had a side-step-slide or two,
been out past curfew.
land changed and the people
were all different
and so too
was
I.
Imagination the pigment.
A thought is a door.
All pieces are newly crafted and posted shortly after in adherence to the rules of the challenge. All the photos are mine unless otherwise stated.
Entry for Day 35 of 100 Days of Poetry Challenge by @d-pend.
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"Not all those who wander are lost," they tell us, but I think it should've been, "Not all those who wonder are lost," for wonderment is but the wanderment of mind along the avenues worth living.
The question in the title makes me think of a song, especially with regards to the talk regarding your age, and your mental agelessness in particular, and the song is Baz Luhrmann's "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)", and especially the following line:
I think growing up is learning we don't always know where we're going. I think maturity is accepting that.
And wisdom is knowing to differentiate times where we don't know, and times we do, but don't wish to admit it, to ourselves.
This also makes me think of all the poems where you speak of running away, and how different that is from being lost, and how when you are "found" after you run away, unless you come back, can mark the time when you don't really know where you are, and don't feel like you're anywhere at all, or even anyone, except someone who doesn't want, to be, there.
But notice the call to the mother in this poem's title. It's so very interesting. Because people can be our anchors, they can be our compass. And the heart-compass points ever-true, to them, and to the past where they dwell and where they helped shape us.
And you speak of going out past curfew, of going out of bounds. But there's still something by which we orient ourselves, and that is relations. Left, forward, before, these are all relations. And relationships are just more things we use to orient ourselves by, with, to.
I like the way the poem ends. Going beyond the point of origin. Wandering into strange things. Slipping past. By way of thought. By way of imagination.
Not all those who wonder are lost.
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A membrane is a canvas.
Imagination the pigment.
A thought is a door.
So clever and well-constructed. Loved this write:)
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