Substitution

Where did my heart go wrong

The air is what I remember most,
The morning chill my daily dose.
Finely shredded leaves under my feet,
Long fields of untouched wheat.

To the home where my grandma yearns,
For her only daughter to learn.
One must change to achieve what life has to offer,
One must be better in order to prosper.

How I miss mothers raspy voice,
Cigarette after cigarette, it was her choice.
I wish to taste my grandmothers warm meals,
Everything about my old rural home appeals.

The decisions I made held consequences,
Too many people with superficial promises. Now I'm alone,
With no place to call home.

Reviews

[richieb]

Iffypigeon,
Your words spring feelings of melancholy as I follow this lonesome journey. Clear imagery that allows the reader to be part of this scene. No one applauds sadness but I do applaud your writing.
Blessings,
Richie b.

[IffyPigeon]

I appreciate your words friend. Thank you.

[Minnie]

Very relatable, it makes the reader able to connect with the author! Great writing !

[‘Thoughts In Time..]

We need to make choices and do what’s best for us and yes much if the world is superficial in many ways...sadly...but there is still goodness I hear we just have to find it...I’m sure you’ll find new ppl to make u feel at home....🌹🌹🌹I’m a loner and like it that way...🌹🌹

[Dianne S Penfold]

This nostalgia can sometimes bring a haunting quality to happy memories. Like a poison that spreads in the mind. I know this feeling of wanting what I used to have. What was once familiar.

[Tiffany K Charles]

Your emotion shows through your writing. You have a great depth of pain but it's almost like happiness. It's very complex but yet suttle and expected. i enjoyed it.

[John the Baptist]

This poem is kind of a memoir without the details. The speaker is recalling what it was like as a child at grandmother's home. It very quickly turns to a cautionary tale, with comments on how the grandmother hoped her daughter would improve herself so her life would be better. Following recollections are fleeting glimpses of the mother's raspy voice and chain smoking, possibly inferring she died of cancer. At this point the moving memory recalls yearningly the appeal of grandmother's old home. Then the poem shifts abruptly to the speaker's own regrets about the way life has gone. Regret is seldom helpful. Lessons learned are. Let the dead bury the dead.

[Einstein Noodle]

you set the rural scene of home so well ..so the closing breaks my heart ...i can only imagine how many people are lost out there ..yearning for that simple life they had growing up ...for me ..totally relatable .. only i did find my way back ... just in time says i! and now decades later am still getting my daily dose ;) love and peace ... your poem was recommended to me to come and read ... so i did .. :) peace on ya Pigeon
E.

[Emma Hiscock]

I loved this so much! Well, Well done.

[EcstaticEuphoria]

Loved this piece, it really took me to that place and time with you, enjoyed your writing! Keep it up

[Meraki]

Beautiful, nostalgic and haunting. Great job. There's always a home for us if we simply delve into all that makes us.

[IffyPigeon]

I accidentally clicked the thumbs down when I meant thumbs up. I’m sorry but I love your commentary

[Meraki]

That's ok. Thank you for sharing this with me, and thank you for your kind words.