Stories

At the End of a Day

When the trinkets and treasures we so fervently sought
seem to have lost their novelty and become merely
trinkets and treasures.

When our precious thoughts we so wanted to tell and write
suddenly seem, too sacred and profound to ever exist
beyond our unfathomable minds.

Then for what did we struggle through it all?
We return stumbling, out of the bush,
worn and weary,
empty-handed.

To sit round the warm orange embers
on a fine Autumn's night
because we'll have Stories to tell.

A friend of mine had this concept, which brought him through many tough times. I tried putting it into words.