We are Nomads, the Ulysses of these spheres.
To slay, to win, to leap through undying flames;
That occupy our hourly cares.
But nature only makes us fledglings first.
And to glide in the sky we must first learn to fly
And know not to fear the tumble when we try
For many things are only obtained with time.
Some fly, run and others walk to the finish line.
But the quest is not a race to the swift;
The search’s essence cares not who is most or least,
But who finds and holds the ultimate piece,
The grasp and grip of which eludes me still.
So I must march on a little ways
On this last order of the elusive quest.
For night is nigh and beckons my weary rest,
When I must forfeit the heart’s earnest request.
Ere that, God please my mettle test,
And lead my feet to that which I seek.
Then shall my soul find its ultimate peace.
meet the poet: Davids Ezimako
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.