After Atypicality

The travels of my sedentary mind
Carry me to lands of sadness,
Where emptiness lies
And others do not see.
The travels of my observing eyes
Only take me to a pained grey.
I look back to the place I once inhabited
And wonder at my path.
Have I swallowed a sullen conviction?
Have I slipped into a pessimism?

So I lament, but I rise from that trap.
I turn my eyes from myself,
And I seek to see the blessings
Of my wonderful Creator.
The travels of my steps carry me
From the foreign coffee shop
Down whimsical roads,
Full of oddly stacked homes.
Here is a warm light that brings me
To England, with families,
Getting along with their life,
Living, normally.
And the warmth of the window
Drifts into the street, filling me.

The travels of my feet take me
Past the house into a cooler hill.
A park with stairs, overlooking many vessels
Waiting to give their sailor his adventure.
The greyness of the mist and the grass
Is not so sad as a grey pain,
And I find comfort
That its sadness mirrors my own.
Others are there, sitting on benches,
Alone, quiet, staring.
I utter a silent prayer,
Following the style of Catholic grandmothers,
“Father, grant rest to the people here.
May You have mercy on us
As we travel in pagan lands.
May we find new graces each morning,
May our hearts always think of others,
May we feel Your joy beyond our sorrow.”

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