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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