you stepped forth with noble ambition,
calling this place home and your heart was here
and you walked into a destiny, a future
but this would always be where you'd land-

and you take one too many steps and
turn around, looking behind at
the poetry you left scattered in your wake
and you grow a new mind that sprouts
from your old mind and the usurpation
is only a matter of time;

and when you look back at the words
scattered across the roads between here
and there
the definitive space that separates what you
are
and who you
were
disappears,
and whats left is a road so worn
it ceases to exist

and you see this city in the distance
a memory now of some place you've never been
and when you come back
if you come back
you've been remembered by
what you've forgotten

now it's just the city that you left
not your home;
home is a series of empty cubicles
home is packed away inside cardboard boxes
home
is a line item on a tuition statement
now, home is where the heart is-

quite literally.

and all that a generation
displaced has to show for itself
is that well worn road
on which their well worn feet
must travel;

and your calluses are strong.

05/18/2006

Posted on 05/18/2006
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams