The Lost Girl

Travel has always been in my veins. Ever since I gazed upon the magnificence of a world map, I have wanted to travel the world, exploring each and every exquisite corner.

But alas, life got in the way of my grand plans to globetrot. I did manage to travel a bit over the last couple of years as a student (more of that in a later post…), but never as long or as uninhibited as I would like to.

Now, however, it’s a different ball game; one physics degree under the belt to keep the parents happy (never do it; it’ll make you seem like a bore as soon as it’s mentioned at any dinner party and I literally almost killed myself in the process), semi-sufficient funds in the bank after several months of hard labour in a London department store (over Christmas at all times!) and all the specified…

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Riding on Waves

So you wander on the world you do,

A beckoned speck on gaudy lands,

A freedom in your last regret

Twisting hands and flowing sands.


On feels about the shouting tide,

A chasm deep and just as wide.

A balling and a force of frame,

A longing to be there again.


Such times that seep,

An overwrought world of goodness and great,

For the debate and the wait,

Of knowing it’s too late.


I beg of you, my aching wave,

How far along the death I crave.

A motion in the deepest woe,

Let me know; I feel it so.


But where do they only have a place,

The space upon which I provide this face.

Make me, break me, always shake me

Miles of waves that forever take me.


What wonder you grasp to,

My delicate soul?

Your hands are chapped and cold.


I worry about you,

your pale frame shaking;

Flinching when you are told.


Such feelings inside so poisonous be

To curl you up so fierce.

Such anxiety grips your gelatenous plea

Before your voice can pierce.


I do not have, I do not waste;

The battles are all written in haste.

Much dew swept moments of the feeling devised

In such honest and blackened words of the wise.


Why is it such that you you do not appear

And you do not speak in calm of phrase?


It is a longing, a wistful soul so forgotten,

So blessed and unaware of the good.

One More Chance

Do I empty my soul now?

Or my body, rather, as its faithful decanter.

A vessel for my spark.


Do I choose to get away from here?

This realm where death is sure;

This circle of the mortal men,

Of which I must endure.


But a soul, yes a soul, must live,

Though here it seems quite so frail

Tired at the age of twenty-two,

Too tired to end its laborious tale.


I can’t even begin to think

Of what it’s like in dead of night

When soul leaves body and drifts beyond;

A happy spirit lost in flight.


I just don’t know whether this is time

To leave this world despised

And head up through the open gate,

To traipse among the skies.


Or should I give it one more chance?

For this sunny afternoon

Is blissful of my echoes heart

Which won’t cease beating soon.

A Thought

My thought, get away from me;

Thoughts of lost and what has gone,

You always feel you have to berate,

And do not cease ’til the job is done.


What have I done to deserve these thoughts

Of gourdy trials and bashful courts?

My mind is amok with dreadful moans,

It will not leave my soul alone.


I am not like the others here,

I feel acute, my genius lost.

I do not stay; I am not clear,

Times are gone with winter frost.


Rid my mind of childish ills,

Jealous nature twisting wills.

So I doubt of all the lust and more,

And think again what life is for.