I Am From...
I am from peanut butter and bacon grease
and the old wooden tree house.
I am from the neighbors driveway,
hot and sticky in the summer heat,
the ant sized pebbles,
burning my feet as I run.
I am from the caramel apples,
the pumpkin fields and crisp winds that tasted like moist leaves,
from the Letchworth Gorge in fall.
I am from the Adirondack mountains,
and “Buffalo Soldier”,
from poker chips and the Utica hospital.
I'm from a path through the lilacs,
and afternoon serenity,
from the stench of fried dough and narrow crowds of many people.
I'm from the kingdom of God,
and the dove of Noah,
from “Great men are not always wise”,
and the precarious and narrow path.
I'm from Inkheart and Eragon,
dusty pages and fresh new words,
from my heart that prays for the children in Rehema Home,
and my best friends that live inside my head.
In the darkness of my bookshelves,
lies the one thats in my heart,
and always there for me to read,
there for me to laugh and cry.
I am from the long past moments,
trapped within my mind,
Frozen inside a single pale moon.
