Interminable Wanderer Poem by Cynthia Pardede

Interminable Wanderer



Someone told me,
if we spend a lot of our time sleeping,
it means that we don't derive pleasure from life.
I hope to see you at the finish line, My friend.
But how could we get there?
When would we get to the point?
For, Darling, we don't desire any destination.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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