A Poem by Andre Peterson

Our mornings greet an orange sky as our embraces becomes no more.
The gentle boy calls out for a home.
He pours his soul out for her.

A trove of endless hours.
A forest where childhood ends.
Stare into my eyes.
We have words for how it feels.

The drums interrupts the silence.
As I am without my years to show.
I shall drift out to the sea.
Unable to guide no more.

Buried beneath the thicket.
Where our ribbons made our bore.
This house was once a home to protect the ones we love.

But the chill remains unanswered.
As I question the centuries lore.
As we carve these names with swords
Why must we forget the lonley hearts it serves?

© 2019 Andre Peterson

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Added on December 19, 2019
Last Updated on December 19, 2019
Tags: Learning, acceptance, growing, sadness, journal, poetry, poems