Posted in Poems, thoughts

Returning

Staring at the past through the snow smudged glass,

pure glimpses of youth and times that did not last.

The slanted frame of an old wooden barn

grins sleepily next to a newborn brick mansion.

Amidst all of the din, the racket of change,

I still hear the familiar pulse of home,

the swish of cars upon midnight pavement

and the creak of old stairs,

moss covered it seems,

they lead me to my sanctuary,

still flooded with tiny reminders

that I too was once a child

and it was here in this house,

these fields and this glorified town

that I once ran wild.

-Eva M.M.

Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts in the comments below.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

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Author:

I am a young and enthusiastic writer, fresh out of highschool and into college at IUSB. I babysit and work and live life to it's fullest. I write. I read. I do yoga. And plan to become. Yoga intructers as well. I grew up on a farm and can't,t wait to move back to the country in my tiny house I have already planned out. Sometimes I'm a little melodramatic but rarely. I'm a spiritual healer, a hopeless romantic, a book worm, and very nostalgic. Thanks for stopping by.

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