Thursday, June 29, 2006

Spec. Brandon L. Teeters

Nights when the winds rise
in the dark moaning oak trees,
we know that it's you.
Home again. Whispering
how much you love us.
Lilies rise outside your
old bedroom window
to greet you.
Neighborhood dogs bark,
rush out, ears cocked
sensing what we cannot yet see.
You walk in the light now,
memories of bombings, shellings
and lost friends behind you.
You are a boy again, a teenager,
a young man. Your family's joy.
A rainbow forms over your home.

Pris Campbell


L.P. Jones said...

This is an extraordinary poem. Thank you for what this poem evokes in this reader.

Michael Parker said...

Pris, this is wonderful! The first two lines are an excellent beginning, especially "moaning oak trees." I once read that nature becomes a reflection of how we feel. You capture that here.