Toward Ithaca Home (3/16/07)

When the wanderer feels the calling of home...

A thought of gentle solace,
Grants so little respite
Within such unrelenting carnage,
Amid the pyres of the dead.

A brush of a delicate hand,
Yields a wealth of distant hope
Through desolation and fortune,
Beyond even the river of the damned.

A simple word or two remembered,
Quiets the thunder of rage
That set so much of a world alight,
Borne from the promises of the dead.

A memory of a life forgotten,
Gives way to present joy
Within the welcoming embrace of love,
That always rested...
Upon Ithaca's gleaming shores.