ג ל ו ת Poem by Frank Witte

I had chosen my bag
I had packed my things
and leaving I sensed the drag
of memory, past's belongings

Who said this was goodbye not farewell?
Who prayed this was a choice and freewill?
Could a forced and definite departure
become the start of a new adventure?

I had covered my wounds
and my spine was in splints
a home was left into ruins
and love seemed lost to sins

Who said this would only last a while?
Who prayed this pain was not an exile?
Could hard and blunt expulsion
be anything else but repulsion?

I walked away from memory lane
and behind me the roads were shut
windows barred, future was framed
and all lines of life were irrevocably cut

Wandering aimlessly without a home
but for whatever remains I had packed,
under cloudless skies and a starry dome
a yearning for healing still nagged.

And only two quiet eyes were of need,
two hands able to give as well as to receive,
two ears to hear of what I would speak,
just one tongue and sweet words to perceive.

Miracles can occur when carrying pieces of home,
for it's not just you on this road, it's not so alone.
It must have been pleasing to some unwordly will;
at the roadside where, for a moment, I stood still.

In these eyes I saw mine,
and two hands I did find,
my words no longer fell unheard,
and pain a soft voice did cure.
I say: should this only last a while,
I pray for this queen of my exile!