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Through the Window

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Another family get together out at Grandpa’s house.
What was once a small family farm,
Slowly became surrounded by
Bustling businesses and huge homes.
For now, still a haven
Enclosed by a fence of towering trees.
Unfortunately, the trees can’t block out
The constant white noise of
Aunts, uncles, and cousins.
The incessant drone overwhelms me
And I wait to escape
To the stairs towards heaven.
The room that was once my mom’s
Has become the home of my favorite doorway.
The doorway is not a door, but a window.
I grasp the handle of the window and rotate it,
I instantly feel the dense, sweet air
Fill the cold, air conditioned room.
Once the window is open,
I slowly tiptoe out into a world of green.
This is my favorite place to be.
All I can hear are birds twittering,
The wind rustling the thousands of leaves around me,
And an occasional car.

This is my favorite place to be.
I lay back on the coarse roof,
Close my eyes,
Take a deep breath,
And soak in the sun.
This is my favorite place to be.
Such a simple thing-a roof,
Yet still an escape.
It takes me away from the wretchedness of the outside world,
Free of stress and worries,
If only for a short while.
This place, this roof,
This is my favorite place to be.





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