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Summer
December 19, 2009
I see
with my blind
eyes
a sky cast in blue,
fields of rye.
Another church,
a place I call home,
with green grass
clouds peeking over…
All alone,
I see with my blind
eyes.
I walk
with broken legs,
and every step
I take in strife,
foot prints left
in the sand,
silver reflections
who I am…
I’m trying to find
someone who left
long, long ago.
I miss the summer
when nothing had gone
wrong.
I miss the summer
when I could see.
I miss the summer.
All alone.
© Jacob B., Milford, CT
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This article has 2 comments.
dan_wills07 SILVER said...
on Jan. 10 2010 at 9:09 am
This is an excellent poem. 4 stars!
**i miss my perfect summer too