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Bekah Halle Feb 10
I come home a foreigner.
The sun is warm and welcoming,
But the environment has changed.
Curiosity is beconning,
But with gentle eyes.

I come home changed.
Last time I was more timid,
This time, a little stronger.
Last time I thought my weaknesses were insipid,
This time, they are part of me.

I come home curious,
As to what it might be, I ponder.
The family dynamics.
The opportunities that I may squander,
In fear of becoming my truest self.

I come home braver.
Even though on the outside I may be frailer,
Even though.
I might not be, but opportunities I can tailor,
So, it is with courage I move forward.
Soon it will rain,
and there will be
some smell of ground,
some umbrellas will
cover the roadsides.
But before that
I will be in home
in my window.
Will watch the
rush of rains from there
till evening,
till the poetry ends.
Sudden changes in weather are enjoyed sometimes by just doing nothing.. I think it's the story in case of life changes too sometimes..
Peter Tanner Jan 2015
Within the darkness there is a solitary flame.
Flickering, nobody but the wind to blame.
The wind could do nothing, no, not even faze.
Next, the cold and damp rolls right in.
Now the blanket of warmth is turned thin.
The flame is now much weaker in this gloomy haze.
Within these conditions the flame cannot thrive.
No, within these conditions the flame cannot survive.
Now dying alone in this darkness, no longer the previously warm blaze.

These elements can't help who they are.
Just as much as a sun can't help being a star.
The flame just does not belong here.
Where it faces the cold and gloom in fear.
It must leave and return,
To the place where it can be bright and burn.
There it can thrive.
There it can surely survive.

— The End —