To a Wanderer


In a world without a start or finish where do I begin?

Our past was then and perhaps the future keeps us in..

This mysterious game we choose to play

In these delicate seashells made of clay.


Though everything seems so certain until we pull back the curtain

And see that the shadows on the wall were nothing but a reflection

Of our subconscious thoughts hidden behind our complexion.


A tear starts to fall

As we realize our preconceived notions point at nothing at all.

And in this renaissance, we recognize the call

Speaking to us from the echo of the Fall.


This is confusing I know, like trying to find a snowflake buried in the snow.

But until we stop searching we will find

That our essence dances underneath the mind.


In this truth we can rejoice as one,

Shining brightly before our return to the sun.

And after we stop thinking we begin to see

How truly wonderful this life can be.

~ Drake E. Scallon