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My feet know the way home

down the long hot asphalt stretch.

Past the reckless paraphanilia of this modern city,

Past the rolling eyes and cracked lips of the lost and abandoned,

In the sacred grove of an immortal mountain,

where kings once shed their peoples blood;

I can see the sweetness of rain gathering.

I can feel it's moisture in my bones.

A promise of renewal.

The concrete softens and bubbles in this apocolyptic heat,

but my feet know the way and I let them lead,

Past old Mrs. Kitagaya, with her hands clasped behind her back',

(in the rhythmic shuffling of her feet I find my second wind)

Past the children sticky with ice cream and laughter.

My feet, tip, tap, tapping

finding the long road home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

This is a work in progress. Lots of different points to go off on. Would appreiate any and all comments

Reviews

[deleted]

Very beautiful piece. Your words were absolutely beautiful. The poem was consistent and you constructed it so well it forced the me (the reader) to read the poem and anticipate more. Your choice of words was awesome. One of my favorite lines was: The concrete softens and bubbles in this apocolyptic heat... I enjoyed reading this poem. Excellent Job! I look forward to reading more of your work. Keep exercising your wonderful gift.