returning: a poem
As if waking from a coma
My heart races,
Blurred vision turning clear.
I am alive.
I breathe. Deeper.
I’ve been here before. Yes. Long ago.
This is my place. I own it.
I feel the breeze, smell the crisp air.
I breathe deeper yet. This.
This is right. This is home.
Images and words scurry
All around, like abandoned children
Stopping when my presence is known.
Then, speeding toward me, passing through me.
There are just too many.
They are simply too strong.
Without thought, I guide them to paper.
I write.
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