A Way To Greener Pastures

My words echo back to me
Off barren walls,
Through empty halls,
Find no hearing ears this eve.
'Cept my own,
I'm quiet alone.

Soon perhaps I'll leave this place,
For greener pastures still,
Across the hill,
And never happen back this way.
'Cept in my thoughts
For lessons taught.

I'll follow perchance this gale
That birthed my soul,
And kept the coals of hope aglow.
A peaceful breeze that fills my sails,
And takes me
Cross seas of animosities.

Here the grass has all but died
And turned to brown,
Exposing the ground,
No longer can my roots be tied.
I'll leave from here the wind the master,
To choose a way to greener pastures.

Tim I. Brumley