Here

.

To one about to leave it, how beautiful and large

And familiar -- as the old saying goes

Almost like home. And yet, the almost sticks

In one's throat, just as one was leaving,

Why was it never better or more? What was

The real thing one expected? Always somewhere

Else and never here? And where do those

Winding roads go, and what's around the next bend

And can this really be the end?

Never thought to skywalk, had doubts

That got in the way of transcending self

With its dumb momentary occupations,

Timidly and confusedly entered caves

To find the firelight on the wall dimly signifying,

Felt awkward with the ins and outs of thought,

Cheered inwardly oft for little reason,

Was shy of others, never to draw near

Yet longed for some company to be found

Down the line, can't recall now where, in the end

Hoped only one day to find feet planted firmly

On this ground, wanted only to be here.

Earth: photo by Lucy in the Sky, 2009