The Home

by Xavier Yeldell

Of a lone wanderer is never settled,

Just like the existentialism that cycles my headspace.

I let acoustic strings control my breathing

And focus on rippling waters,

Daydreaming about the faith that was lost years ago.

When curious crawlers interact with me,

I think about the spectrum of power between us.

Evident contrast, innocence compared.

My omnipotence was light,

So I chose to not displace them.

Sometimes the wind will tickle my concentration

And remind me to move,

But it can’t seem to change mystagnancy.

Often I feel my fingers seeping into the green beneath,

Urging me to stay for a little longer.

Sometimes I overthink,

And even when clarity stares back at me like a mirror,

I put a bag over it.