Walkin on Air

I Vaguely Remember my Escape

Autumn crouches in the forests' windy branches,
woodpiles are stacked and hunting's done,
smoke hazes the rooftops as temperatures drop;
fishermen quaff beer and take sporadic chances
hoping to snag rainbow-trout afore the Sun's gone,
knowing well the warm longed-for Inn is the next stop.
Soon snow will send sheep to their comfy paddock,
aunty's flower vases become empty and dull;
dusty upright chairs, creaky chests of drawers,
dry fruits and stale bread, gruel waterless as a shaddock,
a milk pitcher with sour-cream stands half-full
as the pendulum swings, whittling away hours.
Here I grew up, but it was not my world to keep;
death played life for time: stroke by stroke by long, long stroke,
toddlers cantered about in toothless abandon;
as leaves detach, twirl and descend, I could not weep,
albeit the silent night softly to me spoke:
‘You must leave while you still have two feet to stand on.'

by Oraculus on September 16, 2015.  © All rights reserved

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I Vaguely Remember my Escape

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