Journey of Comfort

Black dots scattered in the air,

Above my head, folding in.

Red pieces of clay, stuck to my shoe,

Covering footprints, hovering around me.

I want to go on a journey,

Without leaving home,

Without sacrificing what is familiar to me.

I want to meet you

In a jungle, beside a river,

Closing my hands together,

Above a campfire, singing

Familiar words

To a familiar tune.

Freedom is my goal, but

Comfort is my preoccupation.

Can I have one,

Without losing the other?


Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger

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