Saturday, August 29, 2015


I journeyed far and found refuge abroad
Leagues away from where I lay my head.
Now I've returned, this place seems all but dead:
My home is not my home. This bed and board

Holds nothing for me now, and yet I'm trapped
By history, the knots tied in my life.
Knots can be cut loose - where is my knife?
Freedom calls me: history be scrapped!

But wait... must I escape, or change my mind?
Is the grass I seek no greener than
That on which I stand? A thirsting man
Beneath a waterfall would heaven find...

Wisdom needn't rush. For now, no haste.
I'll keep my knife at hand, though, just in case.

No comments: