Travel Journal

And this pen has lost its ink on many pages I have written
Of the places I have wandered, solitary I have roamed
There’s her essence, airy spirit, I am smitten, I am smitten
And this pen has lost its ink, this heaving journal now a tome
Through the ancient Atlas Mountains down to Tuaregs by the sea
She has traveled by my side for many years, so many years
But my fate has kept her distant only phantoms travel with me
And this book is getting heavy from time’s ink and all my tears.

---

I’ve written this poem using trochaic octameter with punctuating lines of catalectic trochaic meter.