silence.

there is
[peace]
in stillness

Indeed,
content
are the hands
that lay idle

the gaze, in awe of beauty,
does not w.a.n.d.e.r

the heart, free of pain,
Does not /a c h e/

and yet-
in —-movement
there is life

in the
rushing,
seeking,
feeling-
there is living

they seek:
serenity,
reprieve,
quiet.

and in it, they find
[peace].

in the silence,
my fingers twitch.

take me back. 

Take me back to
Scottish isles
And rolling hills of green-
To simpler days
And summer haze
And all the things I’ve seen.

 

Take me back to
Ancient towers
And ceramic seas of red-
To carefree times
And streets sublime
And all the things you said.

 

Take me back to
Where I was
To jog my memory-
Of who was there
When life was fair
And who I used to be.

wanderlust.

A blue-eyed lad with Scottish charm
Pint in hand, held out his arm
I thought “well, it’ll do no harm”
(That’s how these things start)

A blonde-haired English boy
smiled and laughed, rather coy
I smiled back, full of joy
(Although we had to part)

I wandered from home, far away
Forgot my life just for a day
And said all that I could say
(Except what was in my heart)

suitcase soul.

some stay,
or so I’ve heard.
and they’re happy.

some are born to run,
or so I’ve heard.
I didn’t think
I was one.

but maybe I’ve always
known-

there’s something
about a suitcase.

about not being able
to stay too long.

coming and going,
perhaps returning. perhaps.
but being able to choose?

is freedom.

my suitcase
is screaming.