A Winter Poem

My first poem in a loooong time … a bit rough, fresh-hewn

Where the Heart Is

Home Is A Place You Can’t Escape From

You wake in your soft bed

To find a weight, a presence

On your brow

You ask it its name

You try to find its story

It gives you clouds

That are treetops

And there are rooted, downward

Strokes that are trunks, swaying

In a silent wind

But they are also puppet strings

And so you are pulled from

Your soft bed

And into your shoes

And the outside

You walk hard and fast

Shed your wool

And sweat

You aren’t exactly angry

with yourself

And you’re beyond frustration

Nearly

You chant your attempts

At embracing

All that you wish away

And it’s a struggle

You surrender to

Reaching the corner

On the hill

The trees breathe darkly

You recognise them – treetops, trunks

A yellow ribbon flutters

from a branch

And the world is suddenly

Alive

and Present

and Aware

It…

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