Compass Leading Hopewards

“What was I born for?” –

these words feel like a déjà-vu.

It seems like I have travelled through a thousand stories

Collected a bright string of multichrome memories

Only to find myself in a place I have grown so used to reaching.

 

My inner child running towards the horizon, waving her paper kite against the storm

Shooting me an audacious smile –

Sometimes, I watch you with awe

Sometimes, with disquiet.

 

Even on my way home,

when the fine rain intermingles with the sounds of airplanes and tires

Foil against aleatorik, chirping resounds with unrivaled cheeriness;

I lift my gaze, and it almost seems as if

My feathery friend sets off into heights I am not to familiarize myself with…

 

I, too, lack courage at times

I, too, lack answers at times

If everyone else figures it out, then why not I?

 

And just like the chirps, the beams make their way with obstinacy,

reflecting lush on the leaves the wind blew against the paving

Are the chirps becoming clear? Or how are these the things I hear:

“direct your steps hopewards –

this is where the skilled travellers go.

The beginning of each new morning will bear confusion, but

each loss is succeeded by new gain.”

 

The cherry blossom islands I fancied as a child, floating high above the clouds

I need to grow more to touch them, if only with my fingertips

 

 

 

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