The Way Home

His heart is breaking
Into a hundred pieces,

Shattered with the cold winds
Of the world that misses

The voice of the dying birds,
Falling in the valleys of his frosted world,

Rising with the blinding mist
Of the swiftly coming cold,

Setting in the eyes
Of the darkest storm,

Raining on closed windows
Of the self sufficient souls,

Daring to twinkle
In the lost, abandoned goals,

Swimming in the cold wind,
Drowning in the light,

Reaching for the silence
Of this golden healing sight,

Walking on the stars,
Following the path

To the glorius mansion
Of his hometown place,

To the streets of gold
And life giving grace.