Here May Never be Home

Sixty-three years of fruitless existence
Have won me a pension. I'll be working
Less. I'll have the time to start walking
Again, wasting the hours moving through
Space at a snail's pace, learning at last
Where I am, the textures of this place
I've lived in for decades, but never
Have gotten to know. Will I feel myself
Part of this world of dust, of dark,
Muddy rivers, deciduous trees, to the
Same degree I remain a part of
That region of mountains and fir
Trees and moss that I abandoned
Long ago? I doubt it. I probably
Ought to go back to live out the rest
Of my fruitless existence in the place
I still think of as home.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 51 times
Written on 2017-01-11 at 14:04

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Ivan R
This poem is so straight forward, but still has a strong poetic fluency, it moves, it takes the reader places .. its good.

Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
This is a good time to find out. There is a magic about feeling you are "home," wherever that might be. The poem speaks to all of us in our search for "home."

alarian The PoetBay support member heart!
i am glad you are back on the right tracks, stop having those loving affairs with women...they are stuffing your head like a turkey