Traveller

I have climbed mountains in a land of ancient words and bearded prophets,
Walked dusty-limbed amongst mighty towers of sand and fire
And drifted lazily down the lifeblood of an antique land of noble giants.
You were with me often in those far flung places
With your erudite comments and dry remarks,
As dusty as my tired feet, treading the well worn path.
I saw them all through your eyes too,
Perchance I could communicate my visions to you
In your distance, or your nearness.
You woke with me from sleep one time, in my journey,
When I did not know in what place I lay
My resting place changing as it did from day to day
And I was reassured by your voice, and your closeness to me
That sped so far to reach me across so vast a reach of sea.
What wonder and riches did my eyes feast upon till sore,
Fed with dreams till they could feed no more,
And lying tired and spent, chilly in the desert dark,
I could feel your warmth held treasured in my thirsty heart.
So I walked in the shadows of those sublime and silent megaliths
Serene and mellowed by the centuries of silent awe
Bestowed upon their patient resting feet,
By worshipers from all corners of the world who come,
To see the realness of the rumours and the stories spun
By travelers who’ve returned to tell their magic tales to them.
But on the faces of those calm and often gentle sentinels,
I could find no answer to the questions in my heart,
Just those often present feelings known to me, of being apart
From this quiet stranger who walks beside me in the dark.
Until it came to me as I was gazing at those masks of stone,
Again in awe, struck silent in a crowd, but still alone,
That your beauty is with me every where I go these days,
In words that call me home like the cord in Ariadne’s maze.