Sweet Southern Security

A poem about security.

 

Sweet Southern Security

 

Sprawling shady oak trees, tall slender

pine trees with jutting needles, and broad whispering

magnolia trees towering above as the bright moonlight

filters through their waving restless limbs and leaves,

mirroring the silvery liquid mercury motions

 of the warm Atlantic Ocean.

 

The sweet intoxication of the

aromatic floral vapors of gardenia

and magnolia fusing with the spicy

scent of pine sap from a fallen limb,

calms my soul and brings me peace,

 as a brisk wind ruffles through my hair.

 

Slowly rocking in an old knotty pine rocker,

back and forth, sipping a smooth glass of bourbon

in an introspective state of mind, gazing at the

dancing motions of the liquid waves as a rush of

warmth from the bourbon courses through my veins.

 

 Protective Liberty, the black Great Dane,

barks at the cars buzzing by her street,

warning them to get the hell away,

far from her gate, her house, her family.

 

Chitter-chatter of the crickets,

and the throaty croaking pleas of the restless frogs

in the neighboring forest pond, brings ambiance to this

southern spring evening.

 

The tranquility of this hypnotic setting

and the feeling of security from this old

clapboard cottage that wraps around

me like a tattered family quilt,

takes me back to the security of the home that I

left only a few years ago.

 

Taking this moment alone to acknowledge

all that I lost the day I left my home, reflecting on

how much grieving that day’s caused me since having

to walk away from a life I truly loved

and enjoyed.  Being here tonight brings me hope

that one day I’ll find my sense of security again.