A Son Returns Home- An Inn Called See 2

Words, and battles, and kinship made strong...
Warrior and I have traveled long.
Many weeks have passed for I and for he
Since we sat at oak table, in the inn called See.

Now we have come to what once I named home.
I know not how to call it my own.
How will they receive me, after all that's been done?
What songs, in my absence, have they wept and sung?

The village seems peaceful, though silent tis not.
A lump in my throat rises and is caught.
Midst the clay huts is one I know best.
Twas where I was born.  I feel pain at my chest.

An old man sits outside the doorway.
Two small children, at his feet, play.
Behind the man's chair, an angel stands,
On the man's shoulders rests her tired hands.

My warrior friend, looking over can see
The troubled heart written on the face of me.
Knowing this task is one I must do,
He stands waiting, silent.  I murmur, "Thank you."

"...Thank you, my friend, for coming so far.
We have traveled by sunlight, by moon and by star.
Much have you suffered that I might understand
The path fashioned by a far wiser Hand."

"You've helped, by your presence, the heart inside
To walk through a poet's fear-hardened pride.
Further harm may be done here this day...
Will you come, to see if they'll let me stay?"

A slow smile spreads.  That pure heart I see
Shine through warrior's eyes gazing at me.
"Of course, good bard," speaks my kindly friend.
"We do this together." His hand he extends...

...Among clay huts, toward angel and old man
We now walk.  Old man struggles to stand.
Reaching she and he, I kneel at his feet.
"Please!  Rise not for one such as me!"

"I left your side!  I walked a strange path.
So much I've done to earn only wrath
From you who did all to save what was dead.
You should cast only curse down on my head!"

Tears fall down an old man's cheeks.
Angel walks around, kneels beside me,
Throws her arms round my shoulders.
A mother's embrace.  I feel younger.  I feel older.

"O, my dear, sweet son," says she, slow.
"Welcome home.  I've missed you so!"
Her words are strong, as ever they were.
An inner ocean storm begins to stir.

I want not to tremble and quake,
But one poet's frame starts to shake
I've locked them inside for years upon years-
Down my cheeks stream most painful tears.

Then on my shoulder, his hand comes to rest.
"Son," his voice breaks, "You make me so blessed.
I thought that I never again would see
Your face.  Your absence has sorely pained me."

"Now you return.  I beg you to stay.
You've traveled so far to get here today.
Your spirit is aching.  Be you healed.
Rise you.  You've no need to kneel."

I stand.  And so does he.
My father's aged arms wrap around me.
"Welcome home," he says very low.
"Now," he adds, turning. "I think here's one I know."

My friend, his slow smile spreading,
Takes proffered hand.  My father, not letting
Him off so easily, pulls him close.
Warriors need hugs, too, this poet knows.

A son returns home.  Wounds heal.  Tears dry.
My warrior friend makes home in a hut near mine.
My heart is healed of pain wrought back when.
I'm grateful, that I can love full again.

Adam Scott Campbell