The Wings of Birds

Okay, so here's a poem I wrote sometime during the middle of last year. It details my thoughts and feelings about leaving university at Bathurst and returning to my home town. I wont discuss this poem too much, because I think it's themes of "going home" and "nostalgia" are pretty clear throught.

The Wings of Birds

In the wintry hovel of Bathurst,
my horizon was forever hazed but
Outside, in the wild blizzard,
I lost and found the path back home.
My hoarded wealth and treasure was
once afloat afloat in oblvion; now
as feathers into my heart
they all floatingly descend.

Ceaselessly, time is a set
of slippery stepping stones;
Each one harder to stand upon,
more difficult upon which to hold my ground.
But these things I've learnt
in my own fleeting reality,
envisage a field once faded
into one of flourishing colour.

Countless cryptic messages were
a dark room that has since been
lit; teaching lessons of hardship and
those morals of fellow feeling.
And standing at the outer edge
of earthy home and hearth -
I absorb its crystal beauty;
its eternal radiance.

And that handsome Kingfisher squawks high,
telling me that home
is not where I stand on soil,
but whereI settle on the river's bed.
It's all inside a world inside a forest
beneath the wings of birds:
that town where I grew up,
my memories etched within.