New Poem-The Endless Road


The stink of pot and wet pavement
make walks home like this easier:
my feet tracing destinations beside
double yellow line reveries; lights from strangers
make the shadows dance like old friends
I’ll never see again.
But even as I leave the glass in my heart
and sodden thoughts in my mind I remember
the way we roamed the Henry Hudson trail.
And the way the summer skies were so clear
when our minds were lost, our senses dulled,
but never once did we think those days would
fade like the high from the clouds
now beneath our feet. Sobering
we wonder through moonlit avenues and
hollow skies the bitter taste of
nostalgia on our tongues.

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About Damian Rucci

D.F. Rucci is a writer, blogger, and a musician from a small town in New Jersey. View all posts by Damian Rucci

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