THE PATHWAY HOME

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A trip from my present to my past to find the route to my future

Submitted: January 23, 2007

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Submitted: January 23, 2007

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Atop the crescent crested hill

I stop to sit squat on up thrust heel

Looking towards the distant peaks I had hoped

To see far to the ones that bears my bloodline

But the harmatan haze fogs over the whole

And my pathway home is lost in whitish wool.

I try to retrace my routes, backwards

To the day my ancestor stood proud,

Clothed only in loin skin, head held proud

One this same spot, in sunny summer’s gaze.

May’haps time has hidden his visions in haze.

Still I feel the vibrations of his footfalls,

As he toiled to claim this Eden

For those who run in his footsteps.

I tug out handfuls of rich brown earth

Seeing in them reminisces of my past.

Where she was mother to we

That lay in the crook of her tender back

Reaching out hands to touch abundant nourishment.

In endless emotions swirl

This fog lifts and rolling hills twirl

In a breathtaking tableau of undulating beauty

My path home wards is made visible


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