Leaving a Trail Back Home

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Abstract

not map our journey across the seas it is only our inward journey that shows our path’s degrees</p><p id="1111">Across the endless ocean we seem to leave behind our journey leading to ‘then’ and any notion of ‘when’</p><p id="2939">We follow the wind and we follow the waves the illusion of time does not slow our flow</p><p id="4b2b">Our flow follows our own time and the ocean becomes our clock as we scour the horizon for pieces of rock</p><p id="c89b">Back when we were <i>in vitro</i> in water we floated all day It’s like coming home to Mama like coming home to stay</p><p id="cc18"><i>Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.</i> <a href="https://readmedium.com/white-feather-archive-index-c95167f7dbaf"><b>Writings of White Feather</b></a></p><p id="1083"><i>See all of my poetry here:</i></p><div id="deeb" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/poetry-stash-b7305bfed2ec"> <div> <div> <h2>Poetry Stash</h2>

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       <div><h3>A treasure chest of words</h3></div>
            <div><p>medium.com</p></div>
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    </div><p id="14a4"><i>See my Native American stories here:</i></p><div id="2036" class="link-block">
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            <h2>Wolves, Warriors and Sweat-lodges</h2>
            <div><h3>A Native American bundle</h3></div>
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Scanning the ocean’s horizons

Malcolm left in the middle of the night He never told his family where he was going He never told a single friend He simply vanished in the night without a trace

But that, of course, is impossible You cannot leave your reality without a trace for everything you do leaves a trace on the skein of time and space

Everything we do leaves a trail a scent we leave behind us our vibrations imprint our path our essence leaves a footprint

We can always be followed we can always be found we can never escape from where we touched the ground

With every breath we take we leave a trail even when the wind moves us with our sail

The ocean does not map our journey across the seas it is only our inward journey that shows our path’s degrees

Across the endless ocean we seem to leave behind our journey leading to ‘then’ and any notion of ‘when’

We follow the wind and we follow the waves the illusion of time does not slow our flow

Our flow follows our own time and the ocean becomes our clock as we scour the horizon for pieces of rock

Back when we were in vitro in water we floated all day It’s like coming home to Mama like coming home to stay

See all of my poetry here:

See my Native American stories here: