A journey and destination
shall meet just once.
The worn souls of hardship,
tired countenance, seeking forward.
Yet, hasten on to ends of means
missing momentous light.
The breath of cool winds
on the weathered and distant eyes.
We do not see precious tree
among the stand of many.
We will never know true love
until we embrace one wanderer
and smile upon so many others.

“the river we cross will
be our last,
when we see God
our love is fast”

So fond are memories
burned in the fires
of a journey.
How beautiful
and serene,
our arrival.

(c) 2017 rickstassi

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