Again I find myself wandering,
Upon meandering paths.
Well worn do my feet feel,
Accepting each rut and groove.
Upon thresholds do I tread,
As if passing the doorway of every childhood place.
I am home in ever age of my life,
Feeling a warm breeze upon my face.
It is a wonder to fill my chest till bursting,
And sight among trees willing to listen.
Beneath a welcoming patch of sky,
Do I tent my mind and stretch.
Enjoying each sensation of my body in this place,
My place I claim as a bird to a nest diligently woven.
But a simple mote am I,
Upon a sea of thriving spinning life.
I will wander a bit further more,
And enjoy these peaceful moments.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts…
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