Our Drive Home

Our Drive Home

Tonight on our drive the sky looked wispy and calm,
Like angels sleeping where they fly,
The light dancing off their silent wings.
I imagine that’s how things are, in the place that is the place where we are
When that place isn’t here anymore.

Driving through the neighborhoods things were peaceful.
And all the trees were the color fall intended for them.
With leaves drifting gracefully to the earth below them.
As we wander along our way I imagine that is how we are,
In a certain way, at a certain time, just as it was intended.

At a moment filled with uncertainty and emotion we stop.
Hands touching hands and eyes looking into eyes,
A time when no amount of words can ease the pain.
It’s a burden to bear the weight of all these feelings,
And a gift to be the bearer of them. It’s who we are.

After that we continued over the hills to a place we call home
And arrive when all the colors in the sky crescendo with the setting sun.
It’s a rise and fall that begs no questions.
And needs no answers.
There is comfort in knowing that there is no need to ask why.

Home now, we recollect the drive behind us
And through that, recognize the wisdom of the world.
That there is beauty in all things and we are who we are without question.
With this, we have only the need to hope tonight finds us sleeping safe and warm
Like the angels in the sky today, now one more among them.


Rest in peace Grandma. We love you.

About ShySpark

I blog, I garden, I eat cheeseburgers, and sometimes I travel. But mostly I just write poetry...
This entry was posted in Journal, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s