Gypsy Dust

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
For the inner gypsy in all of us.

Submitted: September 05, 2012

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Submitted: September 05, 2012

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Some days I feel like a gypsy

Movie-ready in my traveling cloak

Beads in my hair

Faded purple and orange

Streak the clouds of the world already behind

Calling my name

But I won’t turn around

I am already gone towards onwards.

 

Wagon wheels shake my spine

Or perhaps a glistening horse

As I cradle a million broken pieces in my arms

The souvenirs of the undecided.

They are enough for me now,

As I am sucked to the next unknown,

Holding to the promise of new and better

It is enough for me now

 

No closure holds me together,

Only the knowledge that yesterday

Has blown away with the wind

And I can’t go back now.

I must go on.

It does not matter now.

 

Still I glance behind,

The Lot’s Wife of a changing world.

Tragic indecision cannot stop this train now.

I have come to belong to this feeling

the feeling of suspension, no origin and no end,

floating in limbo.

the constant ache of regret, and guilt for feeling guilty-

I’d miss this season I’d come to rest in

But for the restlessness that drives me still

It drives me from home.

 

I feel the strange mistakenness

As if I have sprung a leak.

I drip away,

And each moment scatters in the wind.

I worry that they will never blow back,

And I will never be filled up again.


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