Abstract: Off The Porch
I left my soul on the back porch,
beneath the old wooden swing,
the kind held by chains to a pole.
I let him rest in the shade,
to enjoy the evening,
and the glory on the clouds at sunset.
He needed a break,
a moment to ache without burden,
or expectation.
Upon my return, I found him gently rocking on the swing,
puffing a pipe, and smiling at me,
through the grey smoke.
“You ready?” He yelled, with a wink.
“The path isn’t easy,” I replied.
“The mountain is still there.”
“I know,” breathed my soul,
as he stared beyond the tree line toward the shadow of the range,
his pipe now empty.
For a beat,
we waited,
and listened to crickets at play.
Finally, my soul took to his feet,
stretched his legs,
and renewed his smile once more.
With the cold resolve of a champion he whispered, “Let’s fucking go.”
