I walk through a ghost town
where I’m never alone,
kicking empty cider cans across the road,
whispering secrets to the stale, morning air
where my life, at a standstill,
hangs over the beat of a single heart
and a single large Eye,
watching,
always watching,
judging my footsteps as I cross
the path, to a flatland, between the forest
and the streams of music playing in my ears -
there's a spring in my step this cold winter.
Even though I don’t see the sun until it’s too late,
I dance, like the dead, poison in my veins,
because I’m free from my grave.
I’m free from monochrome soil -
draped in a bright pink dress,
I kiss the days away with a warm hand in mine,
and a stolen, back-washed bottle in the other.
I skip on the pavement, rocking back and forth
to high notes and drum rolls,
where I find myself moving between friends and pages,
collared sweatshirts and daydreams.
I whisper my moments of happiness to the North Wind
and hope it travels South,
down to you, down home,
where you’ll hear of my vices
and understand everything.
Sep 2, 2021
Sep 2, 2021 at 11:14 AM UTC
I walk through a ghost town
where I’m never alone,
kicking empty cider cans across the road,
whispering secrets to the stale, morning air
where my life, at a standstill,
hangs over the beat of a single heart
and a single large Eye,
watching,
always watching,
judging my footsteps as I cross
the path, to a flatland, between the forest
and the streams of music playing in my ears -
there's a spring in my step this cold winter.
Even though I don’t see the sun until it’s too late,
I dance, like the dead, poison in my veins,
because I’m free from my grave.
I’m free from monochrome soil -
draped in a bright pink dress,
I kiss the days away with a warm hand in mine,
and a stolen, back-washed bottle in the other.
I skip on the pavement, rocking back and forth
to high notes and drum rolls,
where I find myself moving between friends and pages,
collared sweatshirts and daydreams.
I whisper my moments of happiness to the North Wind
and hope it travels South,
down to you, down home,
where you’ll hear of my vices
and understand everything.
this poem captures my first term experience in my first year of university. it deals with new-found, personal freedom, along with the chaotic response that comes with it. there's a sense of despair within the anarchy, but also a feeling of homesickness - i've missed you through it all; i want you to hear of my adventures.
