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Rated: E · Poetry · Travel · #2223127
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

© Copyright 2020 Floyd Bellinger (hcpn59p14 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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