Full Circle
By Orania Hamilton
Ancient sounds heard from a
tiny house nestled in the green,
among tall oak and slithering
vines, not fancy, snug.
Scent of pine and heather graced
from beyond a pond spread with
water lilies, ignites a feeling,
a sense that burned long ago.
Music casts echoes, as words of
prayer kneel to be obeyed.
Scent of bread baking stimulates
my senses, arouses my thoughts.
I doze beneath magnolia, dream escapes
me, as I breathe the surrounding stillness.
Knowing this dream will never be recollected,
I never lose sight of the thrill.
Far off, mountains peer above, beaconing
me to make the climb. Unaware of the outcome,
I journey upward, growing cold with
each step.
Now,
memories linger in my soul
until I am smothered from their
nostalgia.
I touch the center of my sorrow,
and know that here is where I was born,
here is where I die.
2001 Orania Hamilton
(All Rights Reserved)
Email
Past Featured Author
![](/ak5/sky/images/aarow2.gif)
Back to index
|