Poetry has always allowed me to explore different moods, seeing events from varied perspectives. The following poem I wrote," Homecoming" is a sort of awakening after losing someone. Can memories be imperfect when one believes one knows only a basic truth?
His eyes burnt with the tears of Isis
As he stared, willing against hope that
The ruined farmhouse would rise from the ruins.
The sweetness of her laughter came again.
He turned around and she remained silent.
Festering guilt had urged his homecoming;
If she had asked him, he would tell her why.
He shouted at the tramp who lived amongst the stones if
He had heard of his Lady.
The tramp cackled, his open mouth festered with sores,
Asking what he would pay to understand about the red-haired Lady.
The man closed his eyes, raging, when the whispers
Became the truth he had forgotten.
Running toward the cliff, he saw the vervain would not heal his anguish.