Sunday, 21 November 2010

Poem for a Journeyer

The familiar or the vast, and the strange, and the new.
Environment altered and skeleton walls dressed with memories.
The seasons feel different and the sky darker blue
Though the language is the same in the murmur of the trees.

A laugh heard echoing down a long corridor,
As if you never left or maybe brought it all with you;
Until you open the curtains, seeing a different shore,
Realising that what you saw through the veil of sleep was true.

But life must be movement and nothing can be still,
Scenery shifts and props brought off and on
Against the rippling backdrop of midnight skyline and summer hill.
And we must grow and learn, not feebly looking on.
What is place but rolling road and stone?
It is voices and songs that make the world a home.

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