Homecoming

For this,
Is where we finally return.
A desolate homecoming,
To the untamed shores,
Of untouched sand and unopened doors.

At the unbeknownst mercy,
Of the plotted turn of time.
The crickets resume their nocturnal chanting,
Tracing back to the peripheries of their past,
A prophecy of the night, a divine forecast.

The aged chambers of yesterday
Open up to shape new histories.
The wind dies down in desperation,
To stifle the whispering trees,
Prompting the silent slumber of subdued breeze.

The winding green ivy of requital,
Twists like a snake around our flesh,
Drowning us in our residual filth. 
Further away, the tides rise and fall.
The buried centuries echoing an ancient call.