Coming Home

The town grips my hand.

like old friends we walk down

its memory laden streets together.

My years of absence

melted like just moments apart.

The breezes whisper through

the branches

of the ancient oak trees.

it says….

Welcome back ….welcome home

I see a child

playing on the cobbled street

Is it me?

is it then?

The church steeple towering

as if to heaven.

Limestone aged

with countless years gone bye.

I can feel the heartbeat

of the buildings

in unison with my own.

This place

where life began for me.

Where my childhood was spent.

The streets are quiet

resting from the busy day.

they never sleep

but silently watch the

passing of the myriad

of small everyday drama.

My thoughts of my life

in the new world

noisy and constantly stressful.

How did I not see this tranquility?

Where did my need for adventure

really lead me?

A few raindrops blow

onto my cheek like

the softness of a mothers kiss.

And the pavement says

welcome home my son.