It speaks of Home

The Paths of the Spirit

Longing is always there
Like a shimmering mist an autumn morning
Or a pair of wings beating against the canopy.
It speaks of home;
A glimpse of life under the frost,
Deer tracks in the midnight and gusts of wind
Too melancholy to listen to.
It sounds like the earth traveling through time
In circles of eternity humming
Like a human heart restlessly searching
For its twin.

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