A searing, blinding heat
Welds two metals together
Firmly in their place,
They stay that way almost forever.
They sometimes look back
And they say, “What a day
When that searing experience
Had bound us both in place.”
On an old, wooden swing set
In the woods few children toured,
The planks talk of the nails and screws
And holes that had been bored.
And they say, “What a day,
What a lazy summer day
When the boring and the hammering
Had brought us all in place.”
My parents, my whole family
Look back at when they met,
At all the hot or boring days
When their own fates were set.
So I look up at all of them,
Who molded me like clay
And guess who will look back with me
And tell me, “What a day.”
YOU ARE READING
Compass
PoetryAn ongoing collection of poetry describing the source or maybe development of my worries, joys, and/or morality
