As I walk the path of a depressed suburban wood
Muddy route baked mosaic where no shadows touch
Silk catches flashes in debris on trees laid by flood
While heron gamely sings its double dutch
Bubbling from muddy waters attempt to de-confine
Calls me forth, gurgles recognition
Both slunk low, persistent down-climb
Retreat from hilltop forts' derision
In valley beneath a shadow of cultural demise
Gentle breaths channel down rent canal
Draws ache from bone, shutters eyes
Low whistle contravenes chorale
As my exhales join the downhill tumble
Foliage applauds, wood ignited
Mind bends into body, selves crumble
Child who shines inside benighted
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Author:
Ben Lozier (
Offline) - Published: June 30th, 2022 17:21
- Category: Sad
- Views: 14
- User favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses.
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Comments1
Suburbia can feel like an open gated confinement where we 'voluntarily' imprison ourselves and limit our choices. Hope that is a thought provided for in this poem. Thanks for sharing.
It is very much so. Thank you for your observation. I genuinely appreciate it so much, especially at this moment.
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