Poem:The Wandering Ranger

Some might ask me what does it mean to be a Wandering Ranger?
Surely nothing more than being a stranger
who must now find peace in nature.

Yes I love this beautiful creation
but I seek it now out of frustration.
For just as Tolkien’s sons of Arnor
I have been ever so keen to explore.

Lord grant me mercy for this road I must tread.
I am indeed wandering this world looking to be fed.
For it is my lot in this life to find no place to call home.
Indeed I seek it only in the holiest tome.


What purpose does it for me find favor.
In a world run by a terrible slaver.
Hear me now one cannot two masters serve.
The one of heaven is certainly not of this earth.

Fads and foolish trends do I lament.
When inside the church they find cement.
I am only reminded of what was that pure faith.
That most holy thing now gone only left a wraith.

Give me grace from above as I start this path.
Things have been done that will have an aftermath.
No longer silent can I be about this charade,
Oh my heart is burdened with how many swayed.

So a ranger’s life I now have finding solace in the wild.
Most certainly it seem evident ever since I was child.
I tread ever on the trail finding shelter in the ruins.
Of what most certainly was the church’s undoing.

My sadness is for the bride
and her ever troubling slide.
When she courts the wisdom of men
she so ever abandons the love of Him.

I am now but a mere image of the man
who so faithfully felt part of this clan.
I seek a place where my faith can grow
destined for isolation like Thoreau.


So I wander on with no bed to lie on
Ever so waiting for the rise of dawn.
Wanting only to let your light show me the way.
Until that prophesy is fulfilled on the last day.

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