I've scattered letters across helpless white pages
in the hopes of finding some solace in verse and prose.
But words will not be the beacons that lead me home,
not this time.

The only way I will make it home this time around
will be by breath.

Maybe this unvoiced cry will be caught up by the wind
and carried off, far into the dark reaches of dusk
and maybe there, they will light upon an old hope of mine.
A secret place.

The only way I will make it home this time around
will be by His breath.