The Road Toward Home


Within these hollow cities
the pallor of shallow nights
when sleep isn’t enough
The loneliness of those born to sing,
empty acolytes brave enough
to hear a whispered presence
and wear invisible robes of gold,
who have had time for mistakes and move on
to a grateful sense of sweetness,
the sweet embrace of the genuine
Because we are, after all,
always somehow someone
that is needed.