#4 There and Back, Again

Lately, I have been on the move. 

Every morning waking to a stiff neck and crumpling back. 

Every morning waking to an old man in a grey

and tattered hat.

                              My mind is an intricacy of winding

roads and I'm coming to realize that even the trees

can be articulate. I hope they can explain my departure.

I hope they can explain it to me.

I grope about in dark tunnels,

alone,

some great power, my burden

brings nothing but my own doom. I want

my bed. My feather bed and a world observed

through closed and half-open eyes.

My eyes have been wrenched to see a world darker

than I imagined, yet some say

I cannot chose my time. 

One day, kings will kneel to me, yet I will never feel at home.

The earth will open up before me like a morning glory

and I will walk aimless among crabgrass

and barren places. I will sit in the comfort of my home and ache,

knowing that at the very end of my journey, I did not bleed

or say a prayer, but looked into darkness, feeling

less fear than I ever felt, I closed my eyes.