Outward
Airport terminals betray many turbulent thoughts,
as lives pass and friends fly, far away.
I sit here in this chair, wondering when
I'll ever see such faces again.
Some tears have already made their way down,
forcing themselves to the sad surface.
When shaking hands with your teacher and your friend,
hugging the ones who've made you whole - it is what it is.
More, however, are yet to come.
As we taxi out on the runway, departure-bound,
I see behind my eyes this scene on the silver screen;
and lo, what plays out before my glistening eyes.
A soft melody breaches my ears and my mind,
tag-teaming with the past
to bring forth such savage depths;
drops, slowly, continue to fall.
As I think of those I will always miss,
no matter how close or how undeniably far;
as this is born into life on the page;
I ache for home.
I know what I am;
I fight for all things familiar.
I gave up my right to not feel this,
to defend others' rights never to.
A man dear to me once told me
that I've done my share. No matter how long it's been,
just the first step was enough, he said.
That I owe nothing more.
I hope he's right.
I hope, when this is over, that I can find
all these faces. That I can find
my way back once more.
Maybe one day I can figure out
how to listen.
Maybe one day, I'll live for me;
maybe one day I'll believe him.
Copyright © Andy Sprouse | Year Posted 2013
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