The woosh of passing wind as I move on,
the bam!bam!bam! of hammers fall away.
These wheels that crunch on gravel just beyond,
a highway exit ramp to the blue way,
where life slows down with every town I pass;
and burdens born from crow-caws to day’s rind
yeild to a precious peace I know won’t last,
but let the growls of grief slip from my mind.
Where, then, can I lay my head for the night,
remembering her ever-waking snores,
until the clock’s cukoo at dawn’s first light,
set’s me once more on my own tour-du-force?
But where else can my happiness endure
than in your arms like all our days before?
silence from your side
of our bed
for Real Toads Going Going Gone! (Midweek Prompt!) (imagined by Karin Gustafson)
dVerse Poets’ Pub Meet the bar with Onomatopoeia (pubtended by Björn Rudberg)