My daily poem writing fell by the wayside lately. Life is a journey, so they say. This one is about the lost and the found, the wanderers and figures of history who found themselves in exile.
We are journey
We are journey,
pieces of the desert
crushed by time,
watered by the sun.
The map inside us
is a starlight crossing,
a bridge for all things,
stories and histories.
Ravens tell of our ruin,
cumulonimbus brewing,
but the skies know us,
the light we carry inside.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, April 2, 2021
