PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I saw you today,
as you thoughtfully gazed over the balcony 
to the tidy rows in the garden below,
all the varieties of flowers and herbs
fenced high with rose vines.
Just beautiful...
but thorns prick memories
and you drew blood.

Our old house through the pines 
held quiet solitude for us and ole' Bleu
where once in warm harmony and love there had lived two

It was a place to laugh, love and write songs.
Now it's become a waiting place 
of all night sipping vigils;
the street is now filled with ghosts,
and I must also drink of this cup.
It's a bitter thing to live as a refugee.

I am the redolent breeze from the forest, the roses in the garden...
I just can't deal with this side of life.
I want to come home.