Home It Was

I hear the silence in the sounds my footsteps make and feel the birds above, they briefly hold their tongues, the path is endless, it may lead me to the lake where fishes play in waters without lungs. The master walked these frosty, mossy tracks the Kickelhahn a refuge in the cold, while tardy ants bore grasses on their backs the majesty of trees was never told. The sun, a distant power of the heights seeks timidly a sign of life to grow, there was a holiness to Goethe about lights, and he would wander on to leave his thoughts below. I felt the greatness of a love instilled at birth, no force would tame my new-found hunger to belong, this is my patch, my treasured parcel of the earth where pompous nightingales still sing to me their song. Yes, I have failed to hold the hand that is for me, today the breath of mossy pines is but a thought. I sought the stars and foreign beaches to be free while playing chicken in a battle never fought.