The Suitcase

There is a suitcase
That sits
By His front door
Still
Half-Packed
With Things
He never needs
Anymore.

After years of flying
From Place to Place
And running in
That Endless Race
From Here to There
And Now to Then
That suitcase
Has not moved
An Inch.

As It rests in his front Hall,
Hoping that
This
Is just a lonely lull,
Each day,
He passes by
With a brief, fleeting sigh
Through the front door to
A Place Nearby-
Not far from
Where suitcases
Just wait
And lie.

Now, the suitcase
Will wait
In This Place
they call "Fate"
With this one
Weary Worry:
Without a Dream
To chase
Through endless skies,
He may Someday
Simply Forget
How
To Fly.