through these spaces in search of hidden traces wouldn’t you like to be inside of the life of a bumble bee what are we willing to achieve gone are the days getting caught in a haze your just like a mouse stuck in its maze yet we must be brave look at the wanderer wherever he lays his head is his bed a face of the walking dead
hitting the road alone in his head moments of solace amidst the inner violence traveling deeper then ever before lest I implore another opened door he travels alone he walks with a song can’t everybody get along through visions of twilight in a variation to a dream always tracing memories through a scene living in a land so very mean
he then takes a sip of Jimmy Bean life for him as a wanderer waiting for a call up a yonder in his dream he’s in a gas chamber falling apart at the seams love for him is exchanged for lust like an old car he sits and rusts sooner or later A stereo nor caper seeking for a reason for being in the changing of the season merciful one come take this chip off my shoulder stop the madness before his heart grows colder may have to wait until he gets a little older put your head on his shoulder as our hearts grow fonder through the very eyes of a wanderer
Mario William Vitale is a poet with over 1,000 toward his platform. Vitale was born October 23rd, 1970 in Bristol, Ct. Currently living in Wolcott, Ct where he helps as a care taker for his elderly handicapped mother Ann. Vitale is featured as a writer on Poetrysoup, Writerscafe & Allpoetry. Has a fan base on facebook with over 650 followers. He started writing poems in 1989 after the break up of his first girlfriend as a way to cope with life.
It was a taxidermal view thousands of fawns on the lake. Can you handle the die-off of the whole truth? I have nowhere to go. Genes are turning on, turning off. Bare hands holding the bruises. Hungry, but cannot eat
I am a Traveler, a Wanderer as a Soul “Life” – a great journey I am gonna discover and explore. Routes are dicey, paths are hardly smooth and are always wild, Every corner of the road holds a New unexpected
Like a testudine wanderer or a gastropod tramp, the weight on my shoulders shrinks my home. Holes and scars of a limited life; duct tape and pants on display. For in such a tiny home, lives such a tiny voice
Pander to the broken once more shall you see, the changes made, Above the mighty Stereo Surrendering, only to ignite streams to pour From the fountain of the Infinite Well. Oh! allow such splendor to splash upon a page Aplomb!