Journey’s Home

~

I’m not just me, I’m at least three.

One sailed far hoping to be free.

One steamed airless more recently.

The oldest walked a vast frozen sea.

 ~

With passing generations this matrix grows complex.

A boundless atlas made of tiny specks.

Paper lines divide the pages of our time.

Ignorance is bliss, blindness sublime.

 ~

Unfurl the man-made charts, the journey’s just begun.

The ship of fools adrift, nowhere left to run.

Invaders, settlers or immigrant be –

all driftwood from the churning sea.

 ~

Time whispers on the ever-changing breeze.

One-eyed pirates still plunder all the seas.

Children wander a water-less beach.

Welcome shade out of reach.

~

To find a paper line they roam.

To find a future to call a home.

Pages of the atlas grown,

each a page we call our own.

*

The End

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Book of Dreams

~

A page from my book of dreams;

a tale of love, or so it seems.

I wake each day the dream doesn’t end.

Will she ever love me or shall I just pretend?

.

Technicolor visions and her scent in the air

Awaken from this dream I could never dare.

Her touch always welcome on my trembling skin.

When she says she loves me, my life will then begin.

.

Encounters of the flesh, too few to ever last.

Music of her voice now echoes of the past.

Sunlit voids surround were daylight once was bright.

Now only darkness brightens our rendezvouses of night.

~*~

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