Homecoming.

 

There were many stories to be told
some, i have only smelt
from the pure fragrance of petrichor
to the wintry crisp cold

 

What was once sand and sea
now lies conquered in concrete
The world you once ravaged 
now lies obsolete

 

I remember the technicolor gardens
and monochrome meadows, 
all those days spent
around dusty windows

 

When waiting didn’t last an eternity
only between scarves and sweaters
when the only melody
was the fluttering of letters

 
For far too long
I missed the crunching of your feet,
the caress of your fingers on webbed walls;
even the ones between two eyes and a heartbeat

Age and time had been alluring,
as I awaited your silhouette
the bucolic sunset faded with regret,
there would be no homecoming.

Picture