The Journey Dreamed (Poetry)

This is the place I used to live —
I’ll move one day —
uproot and take this cache of dreams
unpack them miles away
in some rare valley where the moon
dips down to drink
from lakes that glisten — pool their spill
of sky-flushed ink.

These rooms already emptied by
desire to leave
the mind is off and travelling
no mood to grieve
or miss these walls once they are bare —
the hangings gone
the heart has left and every thought
now follows on.

I am the ghost impatient for
the day to come
when present tense drifts into past
and I become
the gypsy that my soul decrees
is trapped inside —
the mountains call, the oceans stretch
their fathoms wide.

The door stands open and the path
loops miles ahead
the route unplanned — a map of stars
flickers red
a small voice whispers — says departure time is near—
the blood is restless — singing words
I strain to hear.

And all those goodbyes ever said
melt into one
definitive — the last farewell
soft on the tongue
and lingering — an aftertaste
like vintage wine
to warm my disappearing as
I cross the line.