'Where The Wandering Light Fades' Options

[Surpass-A]

‘Where the Wandering Light Fades’

Ask me; if I were to be a populant to many men
or a dissident sailor upon the stormy seas;
then which do you think I would prefer to be?
If I were to live in lust and never hinder upon a pain,
or just for a single moment fall in love;
then which of the two do you think I would desire?

My friends,
I trust the second of my questions will prove the more difficult of the two
-resulting in a little stutter, maybe?
Afterall we do live life through the eye of a lens,
though I judge you only as a reader of this; my moment in verse.

So let me speak as the poet, of whom you have
enlightened with your curious eyes.
Where will this life take me, when so many
talented Wordsmiths have entered our syllabus,
of whom now rest, having barely held a coin
between their itchy fingertips?

I only propose such a question because they say that
survival is our way to ‘live’ upon this earth.

See, I write to recollect, to conquer,
I write for love, I write for friendship,
but most importantly I write for proof;
that man exists as one, as a thinker,
and as a revolution.

Many of these thoughts have been inspired
by the writers that have appeared before me.
Now, do i appear the fool?
That of ill-knowledge? That of food for worms?
And could I ‘live’ on such a mindstate
when many, already, seem to have fallen?

If I proposed the question ‘what is wealth and what is money?’,
I wonder how many would conjure a similar meaning.

l'argent égale la richesse! l'argent égale la richesse!!

In my wonder I sometimes fear for my devotion.
Although my head excels through its realist buds,
my heart is a certain contrast in all its curious motives.
If only the two could conform in a happiness
- maybe then I would be a man truly living
for this life in which I have been given.

So now back to the initial prospect;
where do I think this life will take me?
..........

Well let me tell you,
I am alive in words, but I live as a ghost among the time.

je suis Andy Carrington, un poèt d'Angleterre,
qui a reçu un diplôme au Pays de Gales.

Look at me,
29 years, 364 days, 3 empty bottles of vintage red,
and a cold stone groove.
If only I’d have become an artist, then I could’ve
painted me a beautiful new scenary.

vous aiment quelque chose lire avec votre croissant, monsieur?

Thought not.
Instead, I’ll treasure these papers as memoirs
and speak in hope that one day the people will
live upon the unique gift of poetry.
Afterall, hope is a breath within many of the Poets.
A breath in which we need.

Come on Clover, the tourist bus we’ll be here soon.
Gotta do us some busking and get us grub.
Ah, sweet life.





© Surpass-A



Brief Commentary

Basically, I has having a joke conversation with a couple of friends of mine about where we would think we would be in a few years time. I came up with the conclusion that by the time I am 30 I would be busking on the streets of Paris, drinking wine and writing as a lonely poet. A very cynical outlook maybe, but the number of key figures in literature that have passed away with little money to their name is quite alarming. Can we live on the bible of literature and make a respectable living? Now that is the question.