deepundergroundpoetry.com
Walking Down an Unfamiliar Street
"Am here. Where ought I to be?"
"Home." - telegram sent by G. K. Chesterton to his wife, followed by her response
My path is trod without patience,
a map consulted time again.
Whatever be my penitence, I cannot see
where ought I am inclined to be.
The light is trifling and fierce
in its gruesome summer's way,
yet in its fading brings, to pierce,
a beauty giant and painful.
Crouched between a churchyard and
a house like many more
is the place where ought I am to be, at last.
Send a thankful text. Here is the library door.
"Home." - telegram sent by G. K. Chesterton to his wife, followed by her response
My path is trod without patience,
a map consulted time again.
Whatever be my penitence, I cannot see
where ought I am inclined to be.
The light is trifling and fierce
in its gruesome summer's way,
yet in its fading brings, to pierce,
a beauty giant and painful.
Crouched between a churchyard and
a house like many more
is the place where ought I am to be, at last.
Send a thankful text. Here is the library door.
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