Sebastian Sandok Poems

A lost sense of adventure in the world makes me tremble…
not with fear, for I fear nothing
but with lament for the fizzle of experience.
So I sing for all the old explorers, the heralded ones, the valiant few;
...

O warm light on a winter’s day,
may you linger and keep astray,
darkened songs of woods gray,
swinging limbs and trunks a sway.
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How can one not be but content?
For Life, be it what it is, is nonetheless—Beautiful.
Yes we ponder, ask our purpose, question our reason.
But always come to the same, same old answer,
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I had never meant to find you,
For hidden in all the shades, of all the worlds,
Deeply tucked away was your beautiful hue.
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This is to the Mountain Men,
And the mountain daisies,
Please Do not stray while I be out,
Along the trail.
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Leaving is the best part of arriving.
For to leave one place,
we are only to arrive at yet another.
To die is to be reborn, methinks.
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The institution in which we infinitely dwell,
is far to large and much to vast
to confine all of this living world,
imprisoning every single last one of us,
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Out the door and down the road a ways,
dreams tend to roll over with morning cirrus,
frosting over the ancient silk roads of the Himalayas.
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Is it merely a matter of time?
Before ships will splinter upon the stony shore,
Between nights final breath and mornings evenflow,
Will its terror echo through out the land, writhing the souls
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The sun shimmers upon my face as I loaf below the Cedarwood
I ask, what will become of the man
who will not become of himself
To embrace eachother as if we were droplets from the horizon dew
...