Friday, June 13, 2008
13 June 2008, 3:55 PM
a great many doors from the past
when need required such. yet now,
let’s leave this rusty lock alone,
let such things rest while rest can be had
and enjoy the footpath winding round
about sycamore groves and swaying
grasslands, through starry nights, under sun
burning in cerulean skies. The door
will still be standing if ever we return
to this shadow-darkened bend in the road.
Who’s to say we will?
If we don’t, that door can remain
locked and undisturbed until the very end,
and I can bury this key beneath the Waters
in the shifting bed of failing memories.
Inspired by the Weekend Wordsmith.
"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."