Oh blessed, where for art thou?
Amogst the trees?
Amist the clouds?
Along the rolling, slopeing and rising curves of the country side ?
Seek, do I...
Need I travel long and far?
Across vast, barren plains, to the highest, jagged and treacherous Mt. tops, shall I travel.
A journey to find that which was always within; Possibly, as close to the center of the Earth as the largest ocean will allow.
A cold , crushing, dark, forbidden place...
To where, perhaps, I could bring warmth and light.
Certainly, all of this must be greater than that which is missing...
In the heart and in the soul.
It is I who must return home, yet, ever onward...
For that which is gone.
© Copyright 2016 Don George. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Mystery and Crime
Poem / Non-Fiction
Poem / Poetry
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