*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/947138
by Fyn
Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #947138
a pantuom- about becoming home
Home Flight


A sea gull cried its mournful cry
circling around the parking lot.
It must have been lost
blown by the wind, miles inland

Circling around the parking lot
keening for a familiar sight
blown by the wind, miles inland
from an endless sea of salt.

Keening for a familiar sight
confused by fields of corn and wheat, when
from an endless sea of salt,
its cry an echo from the past.

Confused by fields of corn and wheat, when
missing the sound of breakers crashing on the shore:
Its cry an echo from the past
and I, too, feel lost.

Missing the sounds of breakers crashing on the shore
prompted an odyssey up north, seeking waves.
And I, too, feel lost
Far, far from the Atlantic coast, my home.

Prompted an odyssey up north, seeking waves:
I needed to see them once again.
Far, far from the Atlantic coast, my home,
I found Lake Huron.

I needed to see them, once again
I could fool myself, seeing no land across the horizon.
I found Lake Huron
I watched the endless waves; imagining breakers.


I could fool myself, seeing no land across the horizon,
Until I heard the sea gull's cry.
I watched the endless waves, imagining breakers
seeing only ripples, hearing only echoes in my mind.

Until I heard the sea gull's cry
I'd been resigned, content.
seeing only ripples, hearing only echoes in my mind
Watching the clouds twist the horizon.

I'd been resigned, content
to let the lake be my ocean.
Watching the clouds twist the horizon
I realized a storm was brewing.

To let the lake be my ocean,
I had changed to fit my world.
I realized a storm was brewing
as ripples roared into breakers.

I had changed to fit my world:
The sounds of the past were the storms of my youth.
Ripples roared into breakers
as I headed past the parking lot, toward home.

The sounds of the past were the storms of my youth.
A sea gull cried its mournful cry
as I headed past the parking lot, toward home
blown by the wind, miles inland.
© Copyright 2005 Fyn (fyndorian at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Log in to Leave Feedback
Username:
Password:
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!
All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/947138