The Exile

 The exile


The exile leaves his home behind

But sadder still a part of him

Is lost - never to return to a place

Where his heart will always echo. 


There is a member left behind

There smokes an ember although blind

To the colors that have shed their hue

Of what is left of me, of you.  


In the deepest reaches of the night

When the land is dark and our sight

Catches glimpses of a world that’s lost

But not forgotten and haunts our dreams

 

Troubled visions that run like springs in ancient fields

That bubble up and refuse to yield

Refuse to be erased but mark our souls 

And walk with us as we grow old. 

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