1971
Poetry
by Michael F. Nyiri
"Long Road Home"
Branches on the trees whisper, "Go back home." Grasses by the wayside say You don't know where you roam. E'en the mind beneath yours Proclaims you're as stable as sea foam. But still the urge for walking Moves your feet. Swans gliding on the lake yell, "Go on back." Birds winging through the air say You're on the wrong track. E'en the mind beneath yours About this trip seems slack. And still the urge for walking Moves your feet. Concentrating heavily, You find you still can't see. You ask yourself complacently "What is this thing with me?" You wonder most sincerely In what way you seem to be. Yet still the urge for walking Moves your feet. The mind, the eyes, the senses Cry a weary tune. In sense, all truths point to The fact that you're a loon. Knowledge gives assurance That you have to stop this soon. But still the urge for walking Moves your feet. Sweet Jesus fills the horizon Beaming with a smile. Sunrays spatter from his countenance, Shining white all the while. He reaches out his hand At the end of the mile. Here the urge for comfort Stops your feet.
copyright 2001 by Michael F. Nyiri
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