The Road Towards 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.

country roads
pass through
the small town
I grew up in
sometimes, way-
ward notions
sweep even
a tumbleweed
along the road
toward home
 
By Ayaz Daryl Nielsen