In a Beautiful Place

I can't help but think about running away. Away from the problems, away from the fights, away from stress. I constantly wonder how I could possibly fix the wounds right in front of me.  I don't have enough band-aids, or knee braces, or aspirin, to cover up the cuts, to ease the aches, to take away the pain. Nothing I can find can fix the damage inflicted on you, on me, on us.  This one is just too big of a problem  for my words and hugs to solve. My mind spins trying to comprehend  everything unimaginable to me.  I can't help but think about running away because it could all be easier that way. No tension, no stress, no untied knots. But cutting away the loose strings won't mend the broken scarf.  I can't help but think about running away. I put on my running shoes, take my inhaler, take a step outside.  I can't do it. It seems too cowardly a move. 

You would think this place was a ghost town If it weren't for the kickboxing class down the street. Houses sit on the edge of the brook With paint chipping, windows boarded, And a sense of abandonment sitting on the porch. Cobwebs creep up the railings Like disease in a third world country. Dreams lie in the cracked windowpanes, Waiting for someone to notice them. Down the street people buy pizza, Get their nails done, sit in an empty restaurant. The most action this little town sees  Is trapped in cases at their quiet video store. A girls who grew up in the suburbs Is lost in this kind of place. You would think this place was a ghost town At this time of the day when all is silent; But I'm sure the residents lives are filled with schedules Their yards filled with history molded by their own hands; Their annual blueberry festival makes them proud, Despite the ghosts that outsiders see lurking in town. While tourists must think it's ...

The summer breeze catches on the trees Like a criminal's shirt on barbed wire But this breeze does not frighten me I'm already caught in the summer sunshine

Trees line concrete streets filled with bustle of humankind But all they are Are reminders of what once was Yet it is fascinating That they have the willpower to live When their destruction means ours