I can not find my way home.

I can not find my way home.

The way is blocked, unclear.

I push aside the brambles and thorns,

hands bloodied, arms sore, checks wet with tears.

I can not find the way home.

 

Clear paths abound around me.

I see them, bright and unblocked.

Easily traveled upon should I choose

to step that way and walk awhile.

Clear paths all around me.

 

Rooted to a blocked path.

Unwilling to turn aside.

I stand reaching for something, anything,

a dim memory of what I can not know.

Standing on a blocked path.

 

A small turn is all.

To move forward, free, unbound.

If only I would turn aside, leave,

walk away from a memory long since gone.

A small shift is all.

 

I can not find my way home.

The way is blocked, unclear.

Do I turn away, move forward, step free

to go where the clear paths lead?

Can I choose the way?

 

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2 Comments

  1. Did you write this Celina? I’m not into poetry but liked this very much. I like the thought that sometimes we make it too hard on ourselves by not being willing to make shifts in our thinking or our paths. Gives me something to think about. Thanks for sharing!

    • Yes I did. I don’t often write like this but every once and awhile things just pop out.


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