The Battering Ram

courtesy of

courtesy of

These streets are foreign

However the same troubles plague you

You crave the old feelings of safety, comfort and peace

Yet they escape you.

The gaslights and palmetto trees

Have become a welcome sight

Even in the dimming sunlight when

You escape the sanctuary of your small cottage.

You stalk the cobblestone paths

Of the older neighborhoods

Accompanied by nothing but honeysuckle, blooming flowers and iron gates

Each night.

Your tortured and battered soul

Eventually leads you to the park where you

Sit on wooden benches blanketed from the starry sky

By the canopy of trees.

You stare into the darkness

Unable to appreciate the rivers beyond the rail

As the soothing waters seem to beckon you

To finally escape.


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