Preludes

The winter evening settles down
With smells of stakes in passageways.
Six o' clock
The burnt-out ends of smoky days
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney pots
And at the corner of the street.
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps...


ever since i've read this i've never really felt like i can write
i wish and pray that someday i have a tenth of this kind of expression
somehow something a prof of mine said comes back too
if u like a poet try not to study him, dissect him and take him apart u might not ever like him
unfortunately i did and holy cow its not all that bad.

two more nights and i'l be home
back to where i belong where all my hopes reside
but there's something special about this time that has me more excited than usual
its about introducing one part of my life to another

the only thing i can think of is home
home not as in the physical quantity of four walls and family
home : where the heart lives, where my dreams are set, where i want to live
and
where i want to die.