Exile Poem by Francis Meyrick

EXILE



I wonder often what dark dreams
were flowing through my silent mind
and where did all those waters flow
the streams of unrelenting thought?

My refuge was to ask for naught
and dwell aboard where few dared go
A fragile craft in gentle hands
In far-off lonely foreign lands.

That stranger lurks within us all
and it is odd to pause, recall
those dark and brooding times I sought
and inner bitter wars I fought.

And all this frenzy in my soul
as if I never could be whole
as if I couldn't live or die
so many hurting years... gone by.



F.M.
(c)