The wind cut into his skin
And grey skies pressed down on the rotting town,
But at least he was home.
He needed to be there before the pour.
Talking to himself, he scavenged for the lanes.
Wrapped in anxiety and fear, he took the turns.
And finally when the rain made love to earth,
He reached the place – once he called it his heaven.
He knew it will be different.
The once lively walls were now covered in grey.
The ghosts of vanished memories and extinguished memories
All that he could find there.
He had once left his heaven for good,
Lived his life to the full.
But in the end, he realized his roots.
His last breath should fill him with the homely smell,
He decided and there he was.
His strength was failing, and he toiled to the verandah,
A shelter one could call, away from the rain.
He closed his eyes, took deep breaths.
Memories rushed down like the rain drops.
He smiled, looking at all those fond days,
And just when the lightening struck,
He became one with his home.
I have written a poem for First Line Friday in Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.
The first line shall be given and the rest is up to you.
The first line given is below:
“The wind cut into his skin and grey skies pressed down on the rotting town, but at least he was home.”
This has been broken into 3 and used as the first 3 lines of my poem. That is how I used it.