"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Sunday, October 3, 2010


Walking to that place
I call a home,
I slump down a sidewalk.
Leaves, crunching and yellow,
are strewn across gritty cement.
I walk past trash lining
the street and see
an old woman
back bowed and joints aching
raking up leaves.
There are no young backs,
strong legs and arms of zeal,
to do this
for her.

I, as young
as I am,
kept walking.


  1. keep walking,
    keep writing..
    love your poetry.

  2. the problems facing an ever anonymous society. a very meaningful poem!


"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."