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Going Home

And so it was that I found 

a world that had revolved, 

dissolved and then rebuilt itself

on something entirely new,

though there were still some things that 

remained mostly the same or had

only slightly changed — 

like the little marsh that formed 

around my father’s grave,

and the song those seagulls 

continued to croon.


But no longer was there the 

quiet, harboring hurt that I 

once held deep within me, 

nor the looming fear I had fought, 

then silently resigned to —

and soon I knew with a homing instinct

that the world before was finally over,

and life had started for me,

once more.

 
 
 

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