The northern sky is like a flag
Fluttering in the breeze as it
Plays with the surface of the lake
In which it is reflected.

So much water, but no ocean,
Not even a sea: the coastlines where
It all happens feel so distant,
Like another country
Surrounding this one.

Beyond the horizons is just
More of the same; perhaps
This is why they never move.

There was a bitterness I never
Perceived: was I looking
Determinedly for the beating heart
Beneath, or did I just not
Want to see?

Nostalgia for a simpler time,
The desire to divide the grey of life
Into a black and a white that have
Never existed, sings a siren song
Through photos and memories.
Freedom is a simple concept
If you already have it.

In ignoring all I chose not
To see, I jumped into the same trap.
Here I am once more, thinking of
A place I never went through
The eyes of someone I never knew.

What would be the point
Of a pilgrimage if all I do
Is come straight home again?

07/25/2018

Author's Note: Part 1 of 2. Part 2: "Robbinsdale".

Posted on 07/29/2018
Copyright © 2025 Richard Vince