I look out to the valley of my home,
Lights spilling from great forests,
Trickling down,
Puddling into a city.
Sirens and far away sounds drift in the air,
Music, with its delicate notes,
Voyaging through the night.
The smell of summer rains.
After years of hating this place,
My eyes finally shine with tears
As I turn to go.
— Was It Home?
YOU ARE READING
Unraveling
PoetryA spill of a heart onto pages. The darkness and beauty of blood into words.
