Sojourning

I feel free and so alive upon the zenith of the hills,

But I also feel so alone and lost amidst the idylls.

Between the russet skies, the earth—I am vanishing

In my own diminished sense of belonging and being.

Sometimes, I wonder if I made the best choice,

To leave behind a well-rehearsed life and voice—

But I also know, beyond the unknown, I must go

To weave wings and start anew with a fresh voice.

Someday, I trust the Maker shall carry me Home,

Unburdened of the broken jars and jarred bones,

Of dreams ought to become—the Designer’s mold.

But for now, I shall savor the sunset, the hill songs.