My Home Town Of Towaco - Poem by William Waterway
lying exhausted in withering body
with failing eyes in dimming world
I visit fading memories from long ago
daydreams composed of visions
running through forests of my youth
with legs, lungs, heart that never tire
captain/co-captain of many sports
cheerleading girlfriends caressing my day
trinkets and trophies embossed with my name
marbled-based statues of glory now tossed away
* * *
riding my horse, Buddy, across singing streams
following herds of deer over endless mountain
seeing hundreds at play on any given day
decades pass - a new superhighway
crosses the ridge between seasonal grounds
obliterating trails Buddy and I followed long ago
hundreds of deer slaughtered by rolling death
piled in hidden heaps of rotting carcasses
where no one mourns, where no one weeps
the time of our time slowly passes
our bodies and minds yielding to stealth
who visits us in our lingering twilight
to steal our youth, to steal our health
upon viewing mirrored morning gaze we see
things old and new - our fading living legacy
usurped by toll of hidden constant companion
carving new trails across our facial landscape
taking away the verdant spring of our valleys
as we recall our youth: lust-filled, joy-filled
as we run for our lives toward green pastures
Poet's Notes about The Poem
I was raised on an organic farm in a rural town named, Towaco.
Through high school and college I was a star athlete.
One of my favorite youthful adventures was to take our family horse, Buddy, on long trail rides through the nearby rolling Appalachian mountains. On some days, we would follow a herd of deer that numbered close to 100.
Years after college - a superhighway was built across the mountains of my youth. Hundreds of deer were killed by trucks and cars as deer tried to travel back and forth from their seasonal spring, summer, fall, and winter feeding grounds and breeding grounds. One day while visiting my parents there was a story in the local paper of how the dead deer were found by a reporter. The bodies of hundreds of dear were found dumped in piles in a small valley near a remote section of the highway.
When I read the story - I reflected on the days when my horse, Buddy, and I once followed large herds of deer between the valleys and mountains during different seasons.
Now in the last phase of my journey - poems such as this visit from time to time - as I gaze back at memories.
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