Coming Home
By amlee
Fri, 27 Sep 2013
- 380 reads
Wandering Soul, I thought
you sought nothing but high adventure.
Till I find the trail of empty nests
that at your behest, you left behind.
In the haste of uneasy escape
you still rubbed till squeaky clean,
erasing traces of lives and dreams,
all vestiges of passion that once burned
so not even the ash of love remained.
In your wake were up-pulled stakes,
hollowed hearts that skipped beats,
haunted eyes where shadows fleetly crossed,
the dross, detritus and dregs of disagreement,
unexpected pursing of lips at mere mention
of your name, the game guffaw
that somehow did not convince,
a wince of pain that none but
the broken hearted so well know...
Do you not comprehend, Beloved Friend,
Restless One, that in my arms
you have found right of abode,
as I have in yours the right to hold?
For as we meet in our gaze
the haze of doubt lifts like mists
when slanted morning sunshine seeps
into empty echoes, into mansions murmuring
with dimly remembered laughter.
Come shake with me the mustiness
of solitude, the dustiness of sheets that
held life ransomed, unremembered.
Come blow softly away the cobwebs
cried dried of unforgiveness, and
fling windows wide to let flood in
unconfined freedom, not flight,
within the unchiding chambers
of your home in my heart.
- Log in to post comments