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Poem

along the edge
of the hustle
and bustle
of the highway
stands a set
of weathered steps
that break
at the horizon's fold

visions burn
within the dawn
of memories
in crimson pools
atop the steps
as i recall
more youthful days

a rush of sirens
beneath the hush
of october's dusk
with sanguine flashes
against the old stone home
its black and white
beaming back
in blurs
through misty air
where rain mingled
with tears
from the corners
of my eyes
as they still seep
within the lingering
of old memories
from fourty years
gone past




(i was hit by a hit and run driver 2 days after my sweet 16, the anniversary of that date is approaching and still haunts my mind , as i wonder how anyone could leave innocence for dead... last year i had to stop my bus just feet away from that spot, twice daily, this year i avoided that bus because i didn't  want to relive the memory daily)

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