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Destinations


This road ends here.
But as the destination beckons me,
I long to return.
To the long roads that smelled me,
That travelled a long way to listen to many stories,
To the pastoral lands that buried a thousand songs of herdsmen,
To the sumptuous forests
Of untold mysteries and hiding horrors,
And to the orchards of lovers.
As I long for the old paths,
The willow trees whisper
Helping the hairs to raid my ears.
Seeing the destination that awaits me,
I hardly seem to recognize it,
My heart resists to embrace it.
When the willows continue its whisper,
I long for the old motels,
Yearning for a way to it.
But the sky seems to jeopardize my plans,
Threatening with multiple invisible sounds.
The way ahead seems to be weary and unenthusiastic,
The sky whoops before the ultimate outbreak,
It screams giving me afterthoughts,
Suspicion creeps into the hemispheres of my mind,
Replacing the poor creator with reason.
I walk towards my unenthusiastic destination for a shelter,
Hoping to return.
As I run,
I see the lighted home,
Bright and unmoved
By the criticism of nature.
And then the willows shouted sharply,
"What is good for you is always ahead of you".

A.C

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