a tale or two

Allow me to tell you a tale or two.

I love the mountains, 

but I miss the ocean.


It is the thing that keeps ringing in my ears. Whenever someone asks me how I like it here, to where I’ve moved. All I can think is, for all my love of these sleeping giants we call mountains, I so miss my love the ocean and her embrace. 


If I could say hello,

to the trees I call friend,

would that I be that much more full of glee. 


Sacrifice, and trading of burdens, that is which consumes my days. Releasing one season, one past version of myself, to embrace the new. It is not without its pain. To embrace my family, my blood, without strife is in-of-itself a victory I meet with open hands. To goodbye the ground that stood the test of my time, be it both relief and grief. 


What is home,

I do not know,

perhaps where I rest my head.


Tis a tale as old as my first breath. Being unaware of this notion of home. I am not without my questions for it, that in some days I demand answers. But as of late I find it a simple thing. The answer simply being, where I keep my shoes. Where I wash my face. Where I cook for those I like, those I love. Perhaps, all this time searching, that’s all the answer I needed. 


What is favour,

why be it weighty,

like a stone in the sea.


This the haunting of my two o’clocks. My spare moments and broken rooms. I do not like the feel of it. Lest I become the object of resentment. Why am I, the one remembered. I may never hold that understanding, not near my head, not near my chest. But hold the haunting, that I can do. 


I wish this were easier,

felt less bruised,

but onward I go,

onward, I go. 

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