Losing the Way

My eyelids seep lower.

Luggage threatens to slip from quivering fingers.

My sore soles drag along the frigid pavement.

A shattered compass sits heavy

in a forgotten pocket.

The wind sings lullabies of an ancient language.

My mind grasps them from the air.

Thirst.

For anything bittersweet.

Footprints are only cracks in the floorboards.

When trees are tired of standing,

they sit on shelves.

Memories hang on walls.

Dreams sit on pillows.

I’m here.

I’m right here.

But home is far behind.

This poem encompasses the feeling of being alone in your room and trying to grasp where you are in life because the room doesn’t feel the way it used to.