My Journey Poem by Black Mendilouche

Morning winds blow ice-bound air, in curling gusts about my hair.
Within, my toes are cosy warm - without, my shoes are scuffed and torn.

With face pressed to the north I walk, abjuring folk and idle talk.
If tears make tracks along my flesh, at least they leave me feeling fresh.

The future's near but not in sight and none can be my guiding light -
save I alone, and all undone. I'll build myself a new hearth stone.
A place where truth and hope reside, and there in peace I'll gently bide.

(February 2006)