Shelley Moore Poet Prose

Finding My Way Home

In the West
I searched for a vision 
to capture and keep
and glimpsed lovely wings
in sky of azure
Summer was dressed in her best greens
and trees, like sentinels, stood silently by
watching me…
watching her.

The chase began
It led me deep 
into the forest,
to an altogether different vision

She continued to elude me
and I was afraid I’d lose my chance,
to capture this beauty,
and lose my way as well. 
But then the thought occurred to me… 
Would it be so bad to lose yourself in such a place?
Would it not be fine to linger here in solitude?
Having as company
only the flora and fauna
To fall asleep each night to Gaia’s lullaby—
to a symphony of croaking frogs and chirping crickets
and awaken to avian melodies
To bathe in the tranquility 
away from the industrial din of Urbanity
No buzz of traffic, 
just the buzzing of bees
No hum of technology, 
only the hum of the wind
No inane babbling of superficial voices, 
the only babbling is that of a nearby brook
No discarded refuse littered on Gaia’s plain, 
only scattered leaves on the woodland floor 
Not a human face to be seen, 
only the face of the moon smiling down upon me from her celestial bed

It was then that I realized I could never lose my way
In such a place
the thought was absurd
like getting lost in your own house.
Was I losing my way?
or finding my way Home?

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