I was told to start "blogging" or something along those lines for my poetry class. I couldn't help but think that this site would be perfect for that. If you guys don't like it, then I'm sorry to hear about it.
By: Elizabeth Harbour
Dark, Still, Quite,
All he hears are the trees whispering in the night,
“Shhhh, Shhhh, we’re here, it’s ok, you’re safe”,
His eyes luminate when opened,
The deep brown thirsty for something,
He keeps whispering back,
“I gotta get up, I gotta get up.”
A golden sun rises
And the sound of canned taps offer him home,
Calling him to duty.
He boards a bed to sail the seas,
Spending a lifetime on the wave,
Watching the shies for hanging stars and black and white picture,
Photos of three daughters,
And eight grandchildren pass above.
The day comes when he reaches the shore,
Stepping with polished shoes,
He paces the sandy earth,
Leaves his fingerprints in the sand,
And doesn’t go back t watch the pain fade.
As he walks,
He comes to face himself in a metallic mirror,
He can’t help but wonder,
“When did I change?”
Fragile like dried flowers,
Even taken a bite out of himself.
Then he blinks and loses the staring contest with his reflection,
Past the mirror,
His actual destination lies.
A door frame,
Rooted into the liquorish colored earth.
Black curtains cling to the sides,
He can almost hear the trees whispering,
“Shhhh, Shhhh, it’s ok, we’re here, you’re safe.”
Then he steps through the door,
Hand in hand,
To a calico cat with a broken tail.