The Greatest of Wordsmith's Rhymes
I finally came home.
I did not win fully free, not yet;
but the lights by which I roam
are closer to where my roots are set.
Before leaving, I had to say farewell
to those there who kept me strong.
When cruel circumstances upon me fell,
they're the reason I strayed from wrong.
Endless examples of good I could give,
and seems endless seas between us now lie;
I am content to, during dark times, the good relive,
and not belabor what seemed a perfect goodbye.
Suffice to say such kindness as that, their spark,
exists in few you'll meet in a life, and few times.
But to call oneself friends with those who bear that mark?
That lies beyond even the greatest of wordsmith's rhymes.
And now to reach my goal, two years emergent,
orchestrating a touch early my autumn return;
I find old memories and friendships resurgent,
remembrance and joy that I strove to earn.
To lie on my back with the dog right by,
looking up at the heavens' ever-expansive dish.
To see a shooting star streak across the sky,
and realize only one thing more could I wish.
They say you can never get back what used to be,
can never truly be who you once were;
sitting across from the street from what I used to see,
I feel the familiar, past me in me stir.
Seeing the ever changing, ever same rain,
in front of the house that saw me a man.
Looking at the tree I climbed to dull my pain,
the thought of more of such, from which I ran.
I wish now I hadn't, I wish now I'd stayed,
and for a little while longer, for that I pay;
my wish on a star, while under them I laid,
that here in the rain, here, home, I could stay.
In the eyes of those I regret so dearly running to,
saying such is one of my many unforgivable crimes.
To know that not to them, but to that inimitable spark, I remain true?
Such must be the source of the greatest of wordsmith's rhymes.
Copyright © Andy Sprouse