Back Home (W.I.P.)

The long arm of spruce

Cradled in the womb of the ocean

Nestled in many mountains

This fjord of majesty


Where many spirits travel

With questions unknown, seeking

At the beginning and ending…

Of the trail


Wrong and right with opinions, suffering

What is this hidden truth, this way to be

What is this lie holding firm, belief

When acting as a mystery


May the One Truth…

Stay the hand of war

As we forgo the first fruit

And taste of life once more


In the tunnel of the glacial valley

Settled soil and game providing

Giving as each has need

Imagining love abiding, a fantasy


Good to be home, crying

“What am I suppose to be!”

Loving life and dying

crippled in reality

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