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Michael A Gibbs

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Member Since: Oct, 2002

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Blue Ridge Dreams
by Michael A Gibbs

Thursday, July 10, 2003

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Recent poems by Michael A Gibbs
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           >> View all 73

Traditions of the Blue Ridge past;


Inheritance, a gift to last.


But youth and haste will often bring


An end to life’s most precious thing.


 


Adventure called from miles away,


And tore my roots from sacred clay.


My mountain past I nurtured not;


My mountain home I soon forgot.


 


Career and time, each took their toll.


I lost the breeze that cooled my soul.


Adventure? Not what I supposed.


And looking back, the door is closed.


 


The chasm’s deep ‘twixt then and now –


For me to cross, I know not how.


Oh, that I might build a bridge


To take me home to sweet Blue Ridge.


 


So learn from this, my simple rhyme,


That you may see the truth in time.


For now that life is done, it seems


I’ll go there only in my dreams.


 


 


 

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Reviewed by Tracey L. O' Very (Reader) 11/25/2005
What a sad poem. The glamour of exploring the cold cruel world outside really makes one homesick and there just is no way to go home. Stay home and always be at peace. Most all of us learn the hard way though and then like myself memories are all I have.
Wonderful wise poem. I hope kids will read this and hear these wisest words! Take it to the schoolkids!
Tracey 42xoox(c :)
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