Travelling Inwards (Poetry)

It takes a while to reach the deepest part
the route meanders — favours wooded ways
more scenic and diverting for the heart —
a journey through such country lasts for days...

The mountains of nostalgia loom in mist
old paths grown faint and difficult to find
the compass needle spins, direction twists
and distance stretches further in the mind.

Milestones gleam false promise, scatter clues
small place names rubbed to nothing by the rain
the inner landscape faded — greys and blues
so hard to recognise it’s not the same.

Hope’s private region faraway — near-lost
this lifetime’s journey struggles to recall
Time’s swollen river floods the bridge across
sways wild — its very span improbable.

The border of pure fantasy’s ahead
uncharted and unclaimed, no guiding map
and travellers by stars and instinct led
stay dead on course...
                                no thought of turning back.