Called Away

In freedom’s time, he traveled on his own,
And found himself in lands, and under skies
So large, to fill them he knew he had grown —
The food that serves to feed and appetize,
The truth you were not taught, but realize.
In days of silence, so much not to say:
The talker walks, the thinker often flies.
So many fears he once had to allay
Just set aside. Connection in the day
And coming home by being called away.

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s