Leaving Home

Gold cherry

By marandina

Tue, 17 Aug 2021
  • 3857 reads
20 comments
 

Rain falls as drizzle – recalcitrant, obstinate,

framing a doorway filled by fretful parents,

staring into a no man’s land of sadness,

one last, lingering look back then

an overflowing car boot clunks shut.

 

Engine fires, a watershed journey begins,

asphalt roads intersect urban jungles,

silent witnesses of the end of childhood,

bystanders at midnight, counterfeit glass slippers

shoe horned onto the feet of purgatory.

 

I glance reflectively in the rear view mirror

and see many faces from my past,

ghosts of grandparents and uncles,

now formed of stardust and memories,

kith and kin – an ancestral bloodline of yesteryear.

 

I remember all of the good times,

epiphanies to counter daily stoicism,

intermittent family struggle and strife,

revering those occasions of happiness and hope,

Christmas souls lit by fairy lights on trees.

 

A hinterland of cross-city grey ends,

an empty house filled with promise awaits.

I look ahead to an unwritten future where

fault lines of free will and fate meet,

brush strokes on the canvas of life.

 

Image free to use at WikiCommons https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rear-view_mirror.jpg

Certificate U
Poem
Miscellaneous Poems
Drama

Comments

Submitted by Mark Burrow on

Bloody hell. This is great. 

 

Submitted by marandina on

Ah thanks for reading, Mark. Based on my own experience of leaving home in my early 20s in Brum.

 

Submitted by Mark Burrow on

Yes, you capture it well. Well done. 

 

Submitted by Mark Burrow on

This is our Pick of the Day. Please do share on Facebook and Twitter. 

 

Submitted by marandina on

Made up. Thank you, so much. Paul

 

Submitted by drew_gummerson on

Well done Paul. Great poem. 

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks for reading, Drew. Always a good day when you drop by having read my stuff. Looking forward to getting my hands on a first edition of "You" when it goes to Press. Paul

 

Submitted by drew_gummerson on

Oh, thank you. We're only doing a very limited single print run. All signed and numbered. You heard it here first :). 

 

Submitted by celticman on

yeh, we see each other, but rarely outself. Well done. 

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks for reading it, CM. Paul

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Paul,

great poem that I can totally relate to in so many ways.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks for reading, Jenny. Paul

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

beautifully expressed - made me feel for all the young people whose lives have been so disrupted these past couple of years, and who might not have experienced this - poor things. Anyway, a very well deserved pick, and has anyone been on at you yet to read this (or anything else!) at our virtual reading event? I do hope you can make it!

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks for reading, insert. Yes, I have been registered for a while. I just need to work out what to read. Looking forward to it :)

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

"an empty house filled with promise awaits." I liked this very much :0)

Am dreading when my son leaves, though, "no man's land" is a brilliant phrase here, the double meaning of childhood home being no place for a man, but also the meaning in a battlefield, no more arguments about washing piling up behing the bedroom door or where have all the plates and glasses gone? Not that that would apply to you :0)

 

Submitted by marandina on

Ah thanks for reading, Di. I know what you mean although both of my children have left home so the cycle repeats. Thanks again. Paul

 

Submitted by hilary west on

Nice, nostalgic poem on the end of childhood. As always a well-written poem that is very evocative of times gone by.

hilary     smiley

 

Submitted by marandina on

Oh thanks for reading, Hilary. Much appreciated. Paul

 

Submitted by David Kirtley on

I did enjoy this! You have written it well. It shows the feelings of leaving home, moving on, very well!

Submitted by marandina on

Ah thanks for reading, David. Glad you liked it. Paul