The road twists and turns
passing overgrown yards,
broken down cars and red clay faces
of the ones left to grow old.
Aging in loneliness
which clings to my skin,
like dry dust stirred
from rolling tires of time.
And the gardens grow
neat and tall.
Tended generation after generation
by gentle hands of oppression.
The hound's howl haunts my soul,
crawling under my skin
like an unwanted visitor from the past,
weighing heavy upon my memories.
Slowing my breathing under it's dark sound.
One more bend reveals the once white picket fence
weathered by the years of neglect.
My throat dries in the thick air
of the forgotten drive
leading way to the once grandeur home,
where cotton fields no longer shine
and no-one runs to greet you,
as the porch sits empty of the once welcoming chairs
no longer followed by the sound of running feet and children's laughter.
And I wonder when it all faded
~unnoticed,
until there was no home to return to,
just ghost of the past
and forgotten moments of love.
Bronze trophy winner
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