The man sat in silence,

Gazing at the tree.

“If I were you, …

Traveling is a gift.

But it is returning home,

Where the garden grows, …

To be covered by growth,

So as not to be seen,

Left peacefully alone, …

Perhaps eyes,

Are liked closed doors,

Yet through which, …

An outsider,

In a foreign land,

Where I left, …

When I stare,

At those golden fields,

I’m carried back, …

Yesterday I pondered,

My life’s purpose.

Could I have done more, …

Different,

Yet from the same tree,

It is her, …

If I immersed myself,

In those fields of green,

Strewn with yellow flowers, …

He worked the land,

As I sat behind a desk,

And one day we met, …

Today’s world,

Teems with options,

And solutions galore. …

In youth,

I sought others,

To not feel alone. …

My thoughts,

Often pile up.

I cannot escape, …

Home.

Where I belong.

Or so I often thought. …

When life,

Presents me with signs,

Clear and visible, …

I often think of her,

Passing those streets,

The same old trees, …

Perhaps it’s there,

High in the mountains,

Lost in silence, …

I looked outside,

At the half-covered sky,

Wondering if the clouds, …

The distant mountains stared,

At the open grassy lands,

And wonder why man, …

On days,

When I feel old and cracked,

Wondering how the years, …