The Poem of Unrest

Miles and miles by car or flight,

The world seemed to have shrunk,

The Caribbean star, the Arabian night,

A filled, yet empty trunk.

To pasture grand with roaming horse,

Or eastern salty wave,

So far to learn, no past remorse,

I thought that I was brave.

And though the travels did entice,

My heart was left behind,

I found that though each place was nice,

My love was not that kind.

Romantic dreams of southern stage,

Made faulty thoughts unkempt,

And though the dreamer dreamt a page,

The words were still unmet.

Expectations, inspirations,

All but really fake,

Though I still have aspirations,

It’s not my time to take.

Willing attempt, decision and plan,

Each a noble cause,
Still fall short for every man,

They’re destination flaws.

Every place, experience galore,

Though rewarding in their way,

Leave its partakers wanting more,

Grown hunger every day.

One thing fulfills and does suffice,

Its mysteries unfailing,

Few prove willing to pay the price:

Surrender and exhaling.