Longing

By Danielle Hazart

Through crackling waters and bombarded winds,

through towering memories and decaying relics,

I go back to that place.

In solemn, silent marches to brimming fields

of wailing women and silent children,

I go back to that place.

On dry, weeping soil through destruction,

on a path of desire laid before the ruins of yesterday

I go back to that place.

Oh, could I ever yearn for anything more

than these thorned, jagged roots within?

I still go back to that place,

morphed by time and by impressions,

by love, by hate, by God, and by man.

I go back,

I go back,

I go back.

By Danielle Hazart