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Here (Wherever that is)
by Gregory R SchelskeI walk these cobblestone streets
where your name is etched in the curb
and your voice is caught in the breeze.
I took the blow – your philosophical right hook
and I walked away a better man.
There are a thousand miles ahead of me
and a day’s worth of wine
and smokey sillouhettes behind me;
I know now that these holes in my shoes mean something.
There is a place in my pocket
where your picture used to be -
that space is now filled with leftover tears,
unused prayers and gum wrappers.
So here, beneath the gas lanterns
and the broken signs that sing
with each passing breeze,
I lay my head on the stones and I fall asleep.
11/11/2010 Posted on 11/11/2010
Copyright © 2025 Gregory R Schelske
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Dave Fitzgerald on 11/23/10 at 09:29 PM That's a cracking write mate. I love this bit... There is a place in my pocket
where your picture used to be -
that space is now filled with leftover tears,
unused prayers and gum wrappers.
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