“I hope you understand,” The tree said at last. “Thousands of years separate us.” But the meaning of those words were lost on me. Looking back I should have asked, Why it even mattered.
“I dream of all things, And all those things, Have importance, But not everything has meaning, And yet in the minds of humans, There is no difference.”
I write Poetry and fiction as a hobby, I've written a full book but never managed to get it published.
My poems tend to be thoughtful and philosophical with a touch of spirituality.
My fiction is mostly sci-fi and fantasy but usually with twists and interesting ideas thrown in there. I have been told I don't have a solid grasp of genre, which is fair since the whole concept doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me anyways, I write what I want, and nothing else.
View all posts by Wandering Poem
