Brickedroad
High or Low on the Brick Road; traveling to and from ones own abode.
The wind crashes, smashes cans and thus:
My home waltzes in a cacophony.
So long is the dead wait
In my red ballon hands.
Am I falling up or down?
Which is which is a matter of tempo
as the little notes grow into full bands
Now scared I go onward swiftly
into the darkness for rest
to be beaten by sins so originally
A lost resolve to continue on
My courage faded and legs felt rusty
The beauty of a flower delivered the answer
Closed but then opening, spiraling awake
Reveling and dancing to each new dawn.
Green with envy for what I had seen
I chose to pour water on both flowers and fear
Then instantly exposed the path back home
as being nothing more than a palindrome
Home is everywhere and everywhere is Home
Copyright © Joshua Pracchia | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment