Fashioning an exodus,

a raft,

a kite,

made of discarded dreams.

Thrones and castles

only serve to be

tombs in time.


Waking the dead

with wind and water.

Giving life,

not to the past,

but to the future.

Some things

do not survive,

only because they exist

out of time.



we must look back

to know which way

is forward.


Tropical island.

Desert oasis.

Beauty beholds,

but barren isolation.

The one thing

that they never tell you

is just how lonely it can be

at the end of the journey.



I am stitching together

a vessel to take me on.

Tatters of old dreams,

bones of dead hopes,

lashed together

for one final journey.

I am heading Home.


No parade,

no grand procession.

Left a pauper,

and I return as one.

Rich in all

that I have seen and known,

but finding my place

in the circle.



I will launch.



HG – 2022

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