Most Times Away From Home Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Sacred inside cries.
Unlike those one catches by surprise,
When in the midst of weeping willows.

Crushed and pushed aside,
Are branches that have exercised
Death rituals.
And laying lifelessly betwigged,
Under trees still seen mossed.

Footsteps crunch through them,
As if they laid to carpet one's weight.
While snowflakes fall gently,
On memories one has of the Scotch Pines
And the Oak leaves clinging...
In early New England Winters.
On trees kissed with a whitened mist.

Frosting breezes begin to blow...
As children throw snowballs,
Aglow
During the festival of holidays gone!

And whispered are these soft cries one keeps.
Holding onto sighs pushed through heavy breathing.
Hunched shoulders seem to bear a pain.
On a path sustained...
Through imprints made by seasons changing,
For one.
Who journeys on their own!
For one...
Who journeys on their own,
With a burning yearning done.
Most times away from home!

Most times alone to roam.
Most times,
Away from home.