the path down to the stream
was exactly how I remembered it to be.
there was a stillness in the air
one that I used to love.
the trees twined its limbs
its gnarly branches
squirming and twisting
zigzagging
like contortionists in repose.
the tiny brown lizards
scampered for cover
and the rays of sunshine
chased the mossy grounds
where we used to lie;
it was as if I’d never left.
memory assailed me
with a grotesque
slideshow of love and lost
of famine and war
and of pain.
there had been tears, too
the last time we were here:
broken farewells whispered
in the dead of the night
amidst muffled explosions
and pained cries;
“promise me”,
you had said,
“come home.”
the stench of death
and gunpowder
overpowered the honeysuckle
That always reminded me of home
and the boy I used to love.
the decades that passed
felt almost like a dream
as the ghosts of my past
beckoned.
...
...
...
the trees were older now
and spring scatters the air
there were more lines
on my face now
but I’d like to think
I am the same.
lizards still peeked from the foliage
and the sun still warmed my skin;
not for the first time since I got home
I wept as I sat myself
at the ****
of the tombstone
that bore your name.
“I am home,”
I cried to the wind
“where are you?”
Mar 19
Mar 19, 2026 at 11:11 AM UTC
the path down to the stream
was exactly how I remembered it to be.
there was a stillness in the air
one that I used to love.
the trees twined its limbs
its gnarly branches
squirming and twisting
zigzagging
like contortionists in repose.
the tiny brown lizards
scampered for cover
and the rays of sunshine
chased the mossy grounds
where we used to lie;
it was as if I’d never left.
memory assailed me
with a grotesque
slideshow of love and lost
of famine and war
and of pain.
there had been tears, too
the last time we were here:
broken farewells whispered
in the dead of the night
amidst muffled explosions
and pained cries;
“promise me”,
you had said,
“come home.”
the stench of death
and gunpowder
overpowered the honeysuckle
That always reminded me of home
and the boy I used to love.
the decades that passed
felt almost like a dream
as the ghosts of my past
beckoned.
...
...
...
the trees were older now
and spring scatters the air
there were more lines
on my face now
but I’d like to think
I am the same.
lizards still peeked from the foliage
and the sun still warmed my skin;
not for the first time since I got home
I wept as I sat myself
at the ****
of the tombstone
that bore your name.
“I am home,”
I cried to the wind
“where are you?”
