Traveller

 

south-gland-2659603_1280

I was lost at sea,

adrift

cast away from my home

my land, my identity.

No stamp on my passport

no visa,

nothing to show

the straits of my passage

or the final destination

that awaited me.

Across the water

I heard her,

a clarion call,

the trumpet that beckoned me onwards,

that called me home to

safe harbours.

She was the white cliffs of Dover,

she the welcoming shores.

And I found myself

shipwrecked

In familiar waters.

There were no dragons there,

every compass point was cardinal

and I followed my maps, back

home.

 

A poem I wrote thinking about the things that call you back to your roots, that ground you, so to speak.

Image from Pixabay. 

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