Home

We can stumble in mists of doubt,
Like rowing boats on the deep blue sea.
But we always know that there are islands somewhere,
Where pinks grow and seabirds guard their nests.
How can we then really ever be lost?

It speaks of Home

Longing is always there
Like a shimmering mist an autumn morning
Or a pair of wings beating against the canopy.
It speaks of home;
A glimpse of life under the frost,
Deer tracks in the midnight and gusts of wind
Too melancholy to listen to.
It sounds like the earth traveling through time
In circles of eternity humming
Like a human heart restlessly searching
For its twin.

Walking down a lonely road

I’m walking down a lonely road
I wish time wasn’t walking along,
Seeing faces and places;
Reminders of home.

There is snow on the signposts,
Autumn’s clutter in the guts,
Beaten down tracks of
Asphalt and stone.

I’m walking down a lonely road
I wish I wasn’t walking alone,
Seeing white-painted crossings
Faded and gone.

There are untouched skipping stones
In sea-washed harbors,
And crab traps left
To yellow and grow old.

I’m walking down a lonely road
Where possibilities’ shop
Has long since been closed,
Leaving only in its wake
Miles and miles of unclaimed love.