My Terabithia is just down the road,
Where the trees hang overhead,
And where the asphalt becomes dappled with golden flecks of light.
It is past where the barbed wire fences stop
And past where the sky, for just a brief moment,
Peeks bright and clear through the branches.
When you find where the tall oaks regain control
And where only spots of blue can be seen through the mighty giants,
That’s where you’ll find my bridge.
Just off the road, a path hides behind the mossy rocks,
Almost invisible to an uncaring eye.
There, a little creek murmurs in the shade,
And this is where the bridge crosses into wonder.
Right there, the magic happens,
And it is right there that I find my solace.
For those who have happened by it,
I’m sure they don’t notice what’s truly there.
The birds’ serenading song is chatter to them.
To me, it is my welcoming melody,
That rejoices my return.
For those ignorant passerbys,
The thorny blackberry bushes are a nuisance,
Designed the inflict pain upon those seeking is nourishment.
But to me, it’s a metropolis of taste
Where its touch is a gentle caress, like a lover’s,
And not a biting sting.
The buzzing sounds coming from all around,
That is not the sound of a swarm,
But rather a colony of dancing faeries
Coming to lead me in their dances.
In this world, in my Terabithia,
I am untouchable.
I am at peace.
In this world,
I am me
And that’s all the Terabithians could ever ask for.
YOU ARE READING
Storm Prophecies
PoesíaRain falls in crosshatch across the lamp lit sky, splattering the asphalt ground with splashes of reflected light. I look at the sketchbook in my hand and trace the penciled rain and smudged glow. It was shit. I let to book fly onto the muddy grass...
