Arbuckle

The ignored speck on the face of a giant world, More open cultivated land but a fingernail of the agricultural hand, From hot to cold the seasons change year after year, The small town with giant character: They say there is a world out there waiting to be explored, but I have my doubts any place can hold me like you do. Outsiders see you as a ghost town for they do not know of your will and lived history. Like the earth stands alone you are my solitary home in the unknown. I fear one day you will leave me, replaced by corporate greed carrying the same name but not the same welcomed love. For now we are one, emotionally connected as I take for granted all we have shared. The burning sun sinks past your concrete simplistic structures as it leaves your empty space, then rises at dawn accompanied by the cool familiar wind as we awake to take on our fate. You make the days blur to night without a sound, warning or remorse of the dying time. The scene or theme never changes as if life is on pause but the clock still ticks as we grow old together. Your children play innocently and ironically they too will know of the isolated world. Houses come and go, copy and pasted over and over again on your subtle skin. The green of the trees and grass make you more alive but I see death in your streetlight eyes. Your cracked roads paved to connect the outside world, desperately looking for something to hold on to. Quite as a mouse, ignored by the rest of the world, Carelessly, Cautiously, Cunningly, Slowing, Holding, drowning, living You are all I have known, welcoming those who travel past you, a stop on the road. Time may soon forget you but I will always show, love for my gentle home. Adoring the sense of family, absence of skyscrapers, city sounds, enjoyment of the quiet night, the winter breeze, the changing leafs, knowing thy neighbor, you have always been there for me and I am proud to be from the ghost town, small town, road stop speck, my home, Arbuckle.