The air feels cleaner in my lungs
when I’m there.
I taste mint as I gulp it down,
and the tingle of it runs
down the ley lines of my body.
Did a lamppost in the snow guide me there?
I probably already knew the way,
before stumbling across a worn book,
unnumbered, and hidden on a high shelf.
It is there I go, to remember what matters.
I drink from the well of heroes,
fan the spark of resolve inside me
until I know my heart again.
Perhaps it is strange to find comfort there.
Though unlike faerie gold, that spends true.
It costs me nothing, dispensing largess
in the form of words and verse,
leaving my version of a lamppost in the snow
to guide others in their travels as well.
Song Choice: Pocket Full of Sunshine by Natasha Bedingfield
This poem is in response to A Dash of Sunny's prompt, The Hidden Realm