Run around
trying to fill
your day-to-day.
That ineffectual,
insignificance
that is your purpose, now.
Remember
when you were sanding
in the trees,
on the mountain side,
and you looked
like part of the scene?
Though you find yourself
inside these four walls,
you know that you
belong somewhere else.
Surrounded by the city,
three hundred and sixty degrees,
but you know
that you
were born free.
Hope is a campfire spark.
So hard to put it out.
Still as a moraine lake,
the mind always escapes
back to the mountains,
where you were raised.
That’s where you wish
you could be today.
No more exhaust,
and no more noise.
Just the silence,
and the mind rejoice
To feel the stones
beneath your feet.
A mile high,
and miles deep.
It might be time
to slip your lead,
and head back to the place
where you find peace.
Your life is where
you find home.
Home is your heart
and your heart is stone.
Feet are a river
and your eyes are sky.
It’s about time
to make it right.
HG – 2020
Beautiful!