🔵 By Christopher Petteway. Photo by lauragrafie.
Today: I roamed the streets
Absorbing the scenery;
the birds, the bees,
the cars, the trees.
As fulfilled lives passed beyond me
nostalgia devoured me whole.
Empathizing with their laughter and sense of security –
I’d find respite
followed by the intensities of hunger,
emptiness and unbearable loneliness.
I’m founded upon: scorned…
De to nothingness.
For unfortunate reasons
I, nor this world, can comprehend –
fortune has evaded my every attempt
to subove it.
Desperate and defeated
I’ve lost…
Inheriting only the sands of time
as they slip through my clenched fist
These bruised, dirty knuckles.
At night I sit:
watching, wishing,
wondering, waiting…
A vagabond –
resting his sore, swollen feet.
Within this „stillness“ –
this solitude
I hear a small soft voice…
… the comforter;
gently and lovingly
reminding me
that –
„Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven“ –
As tears: bittersweet
Saturate my hidden face.
I can only imagine
There’s no place like „Home“.