Moorish Lights

It sits at the top of the stairs
with its distinctive arch and amber glass.
A trio of ancient weapons shadow the glass,
Moorish lights, beautifully out of place,
souvenirs of journeys,
as much in spirit as in body,
to places far beyond, a learning
that things are never what others say they are
and you must go there, where ever there might be
to know.

About this poem

Everywhere I have ever gone has been a surprise. Every person I get to know is a surprise. And if I am lucky, I bring something home to remind me.

Another picture ( I shared one yesterday) from Oleana, the homestead of Hudson River artist Frederic Edwin Church.

Tom