The Anchor

I have always searched for roots.
Being adrift in space
Is never what I wanted.
I wanted a quaint place

I could call home; my solace
Where I could be just me,
With hot chocolate and books
And love for company.

I have sought for strong anchors
To stop my wayward drift;
Something heavy that no storm
Could possibly lift.

I found them in what I read,
In what I loved and knew,
In what I wrote and learned,
In what I danced and drew.

I became an anchor then;
Roots was what I became;
I dug into the sea bed,
Made a tree of my name.

If you choose to see this,
As being stuck for all time,
I must set you to sea,
Your fruit was never mine.

Perhaps out in the ocean,
Drifting in colder air,
I dare say, you’ll find your peace,
Devoid of me and care.

Perhaps out in the free air,
Like pollen with no aim,
You will just be –
No flower must you tame.

I stay here anchored fast,
Rooted to my haloed ground,
I shall read and drink and love,
No complaint shall resound,

From cold ocean and warm earth,
I look upward to sky:
I am here. Here I live,
Here I love. Here I die.


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