Parchment

When the midnight sun shines,
against the pale backdrop
of the milky white hills,
you'll find me, treading softly
on lucid dreams and the
pinhole stars on the horizon,
keeping an earnest gaze, not stolidly
for I'm forever licking wounds
of times less grand, and tracing
the little roadmap of scars,
on the old skin I left behind,
every one a reminder of a younger age,
Now blood-stained parchment,
opened veins of hope, now sealed
with a purpose for the future,
now, again, and forever,
the pathway is clear, if only
I can find it.