Journey's Home
There are always journey's home,
dusty stretches of winding roads
where the trees on summer days
overhang with cooling shade.
Wild garlic shows scenting air
covetous of ground to share,
white trumpets forcing through
the green, to mix and
startle flowers unseen.
Drifting slowly through your mind,
of flavoured memories of pain,
those tender pangs of sore regret,
where as children you blew kisses,
played hide and seek and whispered wishes.
Walking barefoot, pavement hopping;
dipping, dripping, sipping, licking
oozes of coloured, creamy sunshine,
on sticky hands once so small.
Past the square where old men stare,
smouldering spirals on passing cares,
their fingers pinched with yellow stain,
eyes squinting through the sun baked lines.
It's here old ladies pat down dust,
on everyday starched, coarsened black,
as patiently they wait in line,
for bread to share their soup and wine.
Faraway behind closed eyes,
you play again those skipping games,
with tangled hair, red ribbons choke,
to drift alone, on bonfire smoke.
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2013-06-23 at 12:12
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