Miss every branch when I’m away, that holds up the house in which I stay
And scratches my windows like nervous claws in the dark
Distills the suns light and picks it apart.
Missing the crickets when I leave my abode
Their violin legs make their stories well shown
And every inch of the earth just the way it was sewn
Miss the hushed still air and sometimes its moan.
Miss the chipped paint that my hands once smeared
Over the house that slowly disappears
With rotted sagging wood and various water stains
It’s only a miracle that my home still remains.
Miss it all when I’m about, seeking answers and finding out
Squeezing life’s ripe lemon, there is no doubt
That focusing mainly on vision, made me suddenly miss out.
Author notes
don't look past what's already there, you don't have to go too far to enjoy and expierience life.
critique it, ill return the favor.
Comments
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nice work
I love the style! the poem totally encapsulates what I believe is your message. -
Magnificent!!
This is truly a remarkable poem; it shows talent rarely seen, not only in the way it was written but what it was written about. Most look at life as a chore; they miss the beauty of the why, the poetry of it all. All in all they forget to look around them, to appreciate what we not all create but what was created for us. I only wish I could applaud it more.
All the best
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