Fleeting Thought Poem by Invalid Files

Travelers of this land
Will not ruminate;
Will not dwell upon every aspersion,

Some will saunter, others will hustle,
But all moves on

Introduction to an essay,
Concerned with little solicitous manner,
Hopping from one stone to the next,
Across the pond; they do not linger
to see the rings of waves
Disperse- an idea; or truth,
left to gather dust
Each value of letters, therefore, change
Depending on the stranger,

Gathered in herds, onward to revolution,
Each and every one of them
howling to expurgate,
The cycle shall not cease
They call themselves a deviant,
But they are all but a deviant,
for they are all wanderers

Yonder across the hills,
Every traveler's relief,
the benevolent zephyr to smooth out the wrinkles
of their campaign

But not one of them, these young sheep,
Hear the acerbic barks of the wolves
-'huddle close and we shall triumph, '
They all believe,
the fictitious beauty and passion

A tall iron wall, in circumference,
See the ring of stars and suns,
Crawling upward whilst the metal flourishes harmoniously
'Listen to them not. We shall move on, '
An iron wall, regrettably, is not an iron heart

One traveler, who marches with modesty,
With compassion for the enemies,
Embraces the stares of hostility
has no need for a clan

The one, who will eternally love all
and knock on each door without bitterness
will attain what the tamed seek;
A true iron heart,
With tenderness of a saint