For The Sunday Muse Prompt #179:

The scent of life and of living
hangs heavy on this place,
Here, where the weight
of memory and first things
lose themselves in the labyrinth
of the mind.

First step, first walk, first smile.
First  words – garbled beyond
recognition but finding
the connection between
the proffered body
and sustenance.

First leaving, first returning
then leaving – the first steps
of a  lonesome journey
to a far country, of seeking
the wily welcome of the open world
calling – siren-like – from beyond
the walls that time has built.

The days have their dangers
and the nights their flights of fancy
but in moments of respite and clarity
I find myself here. Home.
Always returning.

16 thoughts on “Homecoming…

  1. Most old houses have memories for the taking. Firsts are generally most interesting, I have a label on my other blog to bring my ‘firsts’ back to me.


  2. I hate to use a cliche’ here, but home really is where the heart is and the writer’s heart surely resides in this place. I’m glad it’s still there for the person to return to.


  3. I like the depth of your poem. It made me think of my final departure from the house in which I grew up. Whenever I return to New York I drive by it and forgotten memories surge. Lovely writing.


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