Oh, the carefree days of youth,
secure and always close to home.
Aware of all the shades of truth,
in disregard my mind would roam.
Then one last look at precious stuff,
rushing from my home afire.
Knew not the meaning of enough;
acquisition was my heart's desire.
Pleasure that dominion brings,
I’d lost the will to see.
I never really owned my things
instead they all owned me.
Then parted cloak from unspoiled eyes—
I hadn't known were closed—
a world in its etheric guise—
I saw but never had supposed.
Isn’t it a thing of worth,
to orphan all that would benight?
Assuming mantle of rebirth,
to seek unfettered realms of light.
I’ve settled somewhat in my years—
midst life’s approaching gloam.
Reaching now to dry my tears—
of joy, you see, I'm going home.
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2015