Wandering Roots

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Is it a blessing
Or a curse
To not have a home?

Perhaps it is both.
Perhaps it is neither.

Perhaps it is an adventure.

An adventure making every place that touches your soul your home until you leave it.

An adventure that teaches –
Home isn’t a place at all.
It’s the memories you carry inside.
And the people who carry you.

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Fog

If there were not days shrouded in mystery,

Questions without answers,

A future enveloped in uncertainty,

What reason would we have to live?

 

With no hand to hold,

No destiny to see,

No plans carved in stone,

We embrace the fullness of life.

 

Dancing on the winds of fate,

Knowing that such winds can bring us anywhere –

Careening down to darkness in the beat of a heart,

But soaring to new heights of joy in the blink of an eye.

Story

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I saw you, and I saw a story.

 

So many things brought you here today, just as they brought me.

I picture your history – filled with love and pain and the determination that led to the breaths you now draw.

And it seems to me that the souls you harbor beneath those shells of a body aren’t altogether that different.

 

I saw you, but I didn’t ask you for your story.

For I imagine it is much like my own.