Couplet: Some Eyes Can't View
In my long past neighborhood at the intersection where;
Narrow streets meet each other—sometimes—I want to be there.
Where bright yellow beams circle, forks in the road, after dark;
Where snowflakes slide down columns, of light rays, that curve and arc.
Where lamps perched on tall lampposts illumine black ice and snow;
Where bright lights cover corners setting slick and safe aglow.
’Neath those light beams I first heard the silence of falling snow;
There quiet—gets quieter—as air currents shift and blow.
That’s the somewhere calling me back to its someplace sublime;
It appears to beckon me back home near Thanksgiving time.
Oft I go there in thought when family bustles my heart;
With think back memories of streetlights, big brothers, and art.
Isn’t it strange how small things leave a lifetime impression;
Or odd—how a simple scene—effects minds eye direction?
Like the charcoal version of a streetlight my brother drew;
The Lord’s face in its lightest light was hidden art some eyes can’t view.
poem by Caryl Ramsdale
Added by Poetry Lover
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