And so here I stand
or to be more specific, sit
and my thoughts are of Marco Polo
His mother, dead; his father not known till age 15
My parents are so long gone
their memories flash across my mind
specters, yet somehow alive
and always a part of me
Intrigued, wanting to cross over, to journey
to a land of great promises and great mysteries
to see with his eyes
to touch, to feel
the sands of a faraway shore
as I, in my chair
long for an even more distant land
unapproachable now
but soon to be in my itinerary
They called him “Messer Marco Milioni”
and I, too, have my personal millions
millions of blessings, millions of faults forgiven
not much in cash
but top-heavy in His love
Marco met with Kublai Khan
As I will meet with his Maker
From South China to Singapore
Sumatra to Southern India
Across the Arabian Sea to Hormuz
600 strong
only 8 survived
As I think back on my peers
How many have survived
the trials of this life
and how many still cling to
His touch and the land
to which we are led
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