Tales of the Vagrant: A Woeful Arrival

Photo by Ian Piexoto - 2022

Cloaked in mist,

I trek towards the endless skyscape.

Ripples.

My steps create ripples,

treading across the shallow water.

Outwards.

Water ripples outwards,

reflecting the stars

across the glossy surface.

Reflecting in the eyes of I,

a man who has seen,

and still wishes to see.

An ocean of mere puddles.

Ancient rainwater seeping

through cracks of stone.

There must be caverns

tunneling for miles below.

Labyrinths beneath the footsteps.

Stories hiding in shadow,

outnumbering their heralds.

The wisps of mist clear.

I see my destination.

The cliffside castle

framed in golden trees.

The leaves;

they’re glistening with starlight.

The castle carved

into rock.

How can you tell what is nature’s artwork

and what is mankind’s wonder?

The trek continues.

Ripple, steps, stars.

The mist drifts upwards

like steam from warm sips of tea.

I long for rest.

My bones burn,

my shoulders ache.

Oh, I have arrived.

My cracked hands touch

the wrought iron gates.

My journey is complete.

This new kingdom will soon learn

the way to say my name.

Whispers will echo

through the markets,

of the wandering storyteller

who’s stories ripple through the streets.

Outwards.

The stories ripple outwards.

Tales of adventure,

past, present,

the elusive,

allusive future.

Ripples.

Gather ‘round to hear my tales.

I, The Vagrant,

have seen worlds

beyond fathom, beyond reality.

May the wonder in my eyes,

shine in yours as well.

See what I have seen.

Dream my dream.