The Wandering

A poem for poets who keep drifting

We keep wandering 

From one page to another 

In search of that poem 

To rest quietly 

But we forget 

That poem is not there.

For poets 

That poem is the end 

Of their journey 

Or maybe a new beginning.

It’s a sad truth and maybe poets 

Prefer to ignore it,

They are those souls 

Who love to drown 

In nothingness.

Poets will be forever 

Wandering from one page

To another but never cling to it.