Poetry

Escape © by Jenne Brown

Escape ©

by Jenne Brown

 

It’s been too long a winter, too long bleak.

Memories of sun and green grown weak.

In shadows the sun has lurked,

For longer than my mind can search.

 

Too cold and blustery to venture outside,

I spend an endless winter locked inside.

March comes with slight relent

As winter’s cold and wind diminish.

 

I drive and drive to find a place

Where I can escape

Marching rows of man’s geometric shape,

That forget the restful curve of nature’s face. 

 

At last I turn and stretch the eye

To find not a box in sight.

I see the bough’s slender sweep,

Carrying only the tender leaves;

 

The tracks of a deer and her doe,

A crystal palace where the dew froze.

 All the entertainment I need

Skipping a rock across a snowy, icy sheet;

 

Hearing the eerie echoes as it proceeds

Past different depths of frozen deep;

To feel the wind beat across the lake

To make war upon my face.

 

To taste the wild, unfiltered air,

Unprocessed, untainted, naked and bare.

Peeking through trees to find trails

Made not by man, nor to man’s avail.

 

The only sound to contend a bird’s song

Is the rustle of the breeze as it moves along.

I must return at last

To the lot and car of two hours past

 

Where the lines don’t feel so hard,

Nor the road to return so far.

I find a peace

Absent all the week

 

As I drove

Along roads

Of concrete and cement;

Old roads, beaten and bent.

 

Now I find the melody of a bard

In the hum and rattle of my aging car.

And after the western sky has dimmed into night,

I discover a dance of flickering lights.

 

A twinkle, a glare, an odd little flight –

Yesterday, nothing more than city lights.

When God went to create,

He curved so many lines that were straight,

 

Not crooked, nor twisted, nor bent,

But an easing, a giving, a relent.

Lines not lacking direction

Yet pushing the eye to deeper reflection.

 

And escape must be found

From the finite works man has bound

Upon the features of a landscape

Sculpted and shaped.

 

The architect ought set his plan

With remembrance of the Creator’s hand.

Lay the lines amidst the work of the divine,

To recall the grace that has allowed us this space.

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