Passing beneath barren branches, through fractured vails of moonlight, teased unmercifully by the unseen winds, of November, I clutch my longcoat tighter, convinced of my mortality by a dying world. The dead leaves crunch underfoot, having shed their riotous blaze. I look ahead to sanctuary. Within my home before a fire, faith shall be reborn. I will huddle in a blanket, nursing myself with Cocoa until I feel my toes again.
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Reviews of "Coming Home"
Reviewed by L M (Reader)
Reviewed on November 3, 2003
Sleeted and snow last night here Excellent imagery in your poem Lee!
In a post-coup America, an Illinois farm boy is drawn into the resistance by his brother's death. Captured, he is given a choice: betray his friends, or the girl he loves will be lobotomized.