a hell of a night.
long have i wandered from home.
many are the dark nights spent in
foreign lands, wallowing with pigs.
like a disoriented pilgrim, my hopeful
searching has become fruitless wandering,
yet further i venture into this world
of poverty. scorning the comfort of
Fatherly embrace, i prefer instead the
rigid cold of rocky rest stops and
frozen shelter of open caves that
are akin to sarcophagi, mausolea
where broken spirits lie.
too much time has passed, it seems,
to turn around and retrace steps
long covered by the pestilent snow
of my heart.
but still, hidden within the recesses
of broken memory, i think i hear
a quiet Voice that patiently
continues to wait its turn -
a Voice that calls this vagrant
soul to return home, assuring
a vagabond of its intention
to leave the porch light on.
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