COMING HOME

by:   Tucker   aka   Riskall





Silken pastels paint
sleeping hills in misty mantels,
Giants toes standing sentry.

Silence broken by songs
of early risers and diesels distance.
Mournful, plaintive, heralds.

Dawn, ever glowing,
outlines willows stringy long hair
Twisted patriarchs stealing water.

Windless moment, quiet, reflective,
too far from babbling brooks
Forced inward thoughts.

Stark, fragile beauty husbanded
by trolls uncaring of her
Tears of dew mask her face.

Valley rolled tween deserts edge
and mountains incline
Cold lovely mistress.

High maintenance romance this is not,
except perhaps. . .
Her to me

Across miles of continent here is home,
found by circuitous travels.
She owns my heart.

Dawn has uncovered her, a lover
seen neath sheets, yet not awake.
No lust felt at such site.

Tender my feelings grow, memories
of places far off no longer beckon.
Reminding here she is.

Morn, short, long of moment,
paints new silken memory in pastels
I am humbled.





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