Prison

When I travel back to the old town, to the old family homestead,

even though the kin has long since gone, one and then another by-and-by,

my family still remains. 

The land is my mother and the hills are my brothers.

My friends still persevere as tree and stream.

And in silence I say hello to them and we reminisce about times so old that they seem to have never occurred.

I come by o’ so infrequently against my wants.

My time kept away, so I thought brought on by others or situation, hollows my soul, but now in clear realization I know was by my own self-loath.

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saiom's picture

  it makes me sad

 

it makes me sad



 

 

Cascade's picture

Sometimes being reminded of

Sometimes being reminded of the past is both comforting and painful

allets's picture

Going Home

Wondrous and traumatic - mostly fabulous if visit is kept short. Home. :D slc



~(:D)-