| Prologue
There was a wanderer with puffy hair,
The Wanderer’s Tale To say the least is usually most,
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sometimes I put all my strength to the test.
I’m no ugly woman, but I do know That there are many who would stand in woe, if for a moment actually though that they would have to ever look like me. There’s no way true happiness can be bought, it’s all the things in my life that have taught. No matter what happens, you can’t agree, that what they say is true for you or me, because like me you’ll be in the web caught. Stories are what I tell, no more or less. People only hear my voice I confess, that’s all they see in me and nothing else. It’s because I’m the wanderer who sells, stories that is, I do like to obsess. If the story was true then maybe still, I won’t for a second believe until. I truly with a passion disagree, that the morals in the stories are free. It’s I who will always go around here, wheeling and dealing it all with no care. Well, what I want to say that I have learned much, though I cannot retrieve my thoughts alone; but I will tell you little about such. A girl so young, but she is almost done. Unless she changes it’s what you will see, is that only by change is what she’ll be. Longing for all those happy days and bliss, instead she was bitter with avarice. It was her problem that she tried too hard, she built her own cell and then became barred. A life imprisoned and tears she had shed, her heart was empty and her soul had bled. Her envious tears and nights she’d not slept. She had false pride, too much, that’s why she wept. Whenever she looked into the mirror, it was hurt and pain that gave her terror. She was a glutton with men, that’s the first. |
| Though only the first it isn’t the worst.
She had not one moral, no self-control, she had no self-esteem, not one real goal. She’d been slapped in the face by the hand of life, was sure she would never become a wife. So promiscuous in her own small ways, she said it would stop, but it was no phase. Upon the day of which this all began, into dark and dust is where Memory had ran. Her dream and hope had been buried away, and into the ground is where she would lay. Something had told her along from the start, that she should beware, go run, and go dart! But like that instinct that had told her then, it changed over and over, once again. She roamed all of the streets and hills alone, believing she would make it on her own. So greedy with all her actions and looks, she never stopped to see all of her quirks. Peddling grilled cheeses by the daytime, stuffing enveloped in the dark at night, her shame sliced right through her just like a knife. Well, it was time she asked, “Is this the life?” So, she turned into a lady in red, letting them come in and out of her bed; but still there were those voices in her head, who questioned the turn that her life had led. But being stubborn she did not listen, too late, as his freakish eyes did glisten,. he laughed with malice and took out a gun, this was no longer some warm woman’s son. All she could hear was a very loud groan, Kick! she grabbed the gun and loudly he moaned. It was push and shove in Eden’s garden, Eve killed Adam and there was no pardon. Her mind became a blank, “What have I done!?” Something told her, it told her well to run. |
From that dead man who had tried to kill her,
it changed a life that was now a murder. She then took off, are you surprised she fled? The waters were so deep, she could not tread. Upon her trek to become a recluse, she started to bawl, “Why’d I been so loose?” It took her awhile to come and see, as she voyaged under all of the stars. To begin the life that was meant to be, is to undergo some painstaking scars. She met some woman traveling abroad, she was no vixen, not even a fraud. She shared with her all her words of wisdom, shared her home and divided her freedom. “Home” in the sense of “owning” all the land, a natural life with no upper hand. Washing up that bottle of emotion, that she so long ago had thrown to sea; cracked in front of her was her devotion, with good ole’ love and trust and charity. Shattered thoughts began to invade her head, she’s just proud to say that it’s not her bed. She’s better than that she’s come to conceive, even that woman has come to believe. “In fact though she was just told me the way,” she’s always had faith the very first day.” Shadows of each other, each drawn so fine, their steps remained one, as they walked in line. “Look at me now to those who gave pity, who taught me that I would never go far; Well I now scorn those who think they’re witty. No man can mold one into who they are.” Eternal happiness and profound bliss, oh, she’d like to send out one more kiss; to that amazing gypsy, Roza Bea, who showed her you don’t need your eyes to see. You don’t need vanity, that’s not the key, but there is one special necessity! And that’s even greater than any art. |