home

along a path winding…spreading…pebbles tossed…horse carriages saunter-by… a golden statue of our goddess..she was always a beauty…

watching kids atop dad’s shoulders…hands held…lovers kiss…runners running…to where…i do not know…a finish-line awaits…

here there is peace…to sit upon a bench…gazing at architectural fancies…old buildings…brownstones… character…character…age does that…

trees ring of gold…saphire…auburn..and ash…winter will come soon…another act in the year’s play… we take this in…we take this in…giving thanks…

to walk through Central Park West with you…children of November…as Coltrane blows and cinnamon tickles our throats…

this is home…this is home…

Published by:

dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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