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.
Sometimes
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.
So,
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.
Soon,
I will launch.
HG – 2022
Beautifully evoked 🌹❤
Thank you.