The Visitor



no calling card,

a bit disheveled –

didn’t talk a lot.

He left with his dinner-

only a crumb lagged


He didn’t

warrant memory,

but he remains

on my mind.

I imagine

he appeased

the Wind,


Torrential Rain,

grimaced as

he blessed

the Infernal Sun.


he was set upon –

set upon

to rile our interest

tantalize our interest,

and be gone.


I feel like a visitor in my own life. I have abandoned my former existence, more succumb than desire. I have embraced a new life and emerged quasi triumphant in plotting a path to growth. Yet, my heart longs for my roots. The tangled winding rooted path that I fled.

1 Comment

  1. Nice poem but maybe your comment at the end was not apropos. One should never look back, only forward. You have done what many people wish they could do—create a new life for themselves.


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