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Home.
April 26, 2016
Smiles seem to say,
Hey, how’s life?
Even when lurking clouds turn gray,
Joyous memories cut like a rigid knife.
Forming an incomprehensible array.
Feels like home,
Even when we’re 6 feet under.
Unseparated like garden gnomes,
Through tumultuous rain and inevitable thunder.
Though as of late,
Falling, drowning on our own breath.
Even through blistering hate,
In the end, together, forever, until death.
That is, and always will be our fate.
© Alana R., Dallas, OR
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