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About This Poem
The Perfect Way Home
It's winter's evening, I am driving home. The bare trees whisper my vulnerability like a secret to the sky. I've come again to an all too familiar crossroads; the one of dreams and fear. I stop at the traffic light waiting but I am lost within a cold ocean of myself. Overhead on the telephone wires, a flock of blackbirds have gathered. The electric current keeps their toes snug and warm as they chatter; eavesdropping on my thoughts. I wonder why the birds have chosen this particular place with all its confusion? Perhaps they are my muse, my witnesses and they wait for a change in the signal too. With a slight ripple in the wind and the light, their wings lift up in unison and I am lifted too. I have no need to tarry; I turn towards the fading sun. My heart is carried by a light haven. Inhaling a deep breath of me, I pass a billboard that tells me to have courage.
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