It'll be Alright.

I miss you,
My now old and dusty kin,
The last warriors of tribulation
To pass through these stalls.
The fiery hearts
The glimmered eyes of wander.
You,
Who, readers of books of far off lands,
Took the step of against feared others,
And trekked beyond your bubbled doors;
Have we been your Good Home?
The Far West;
Was it as your ink scrawled pages?
Literary minds can capture what isn’t seen;
Have your eyes been fully quenched?
For now I do though,
Compile and compile,
Of our Lilac Wine,
Worry as my heart does still
Are we quenching flames but souls?
Let it not be, and return,
Swallowed into sadness, Love, and fruit.