The death of lofty ideals
| Coming Home
Time bends gracefully backwards,
Like an old film rewinding
Familiar images frozen in memory
Filtered and refocused in the present
Standing between then and now.
Graceful autumn leaves
Fell from weeping trees,
Arms extending high with joy,
Held me once in childhood play,
A mast from which distant lands I spied,
The wide expanse of earth around
That held my focus through time's limit
To waiting wonders just beyond a youthful gaze.
By toil and chance grasp of fate's coattails,
Leaning ever against the wind of want,
The elusive prize sacked as my own
Against the roar of time and vacant roads.
But the last bend brings me surely home again,
Where smell of earth of smaller days
Carry yet the lure of restless dreams
Against the gyrating compass on the floor,
Guiding uncertain steps to mountain tops
And down again to waiting earth below.
My mistress world sang binding cords,
Dull feverish tunes of possibilities,
Binding the gods against my will,
Now come to rest in this last ebb
In this place my grave, my home.