Posted in Poems, thoughts


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.”



I am the author of and am currently working on a book of poems. To find out more check out my about me page as well as my page about my blog and welcome to the ink angels community.

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