Smoking Gun #Poetry

For about the millionth time,

I prayed again for a sign-

and found your street. (Literally)

However, it guided not you but me

and as a part of a journey,

Yet still- I was walking blindly.

The time on your dash was

the smoking gun,

A number that is emblazed in my faith-

under an already blazing sun.

That wise old laugh of yours

cracked the day’s seams-

Your cigarette smoke swirling 

in the tempered heat,

Hanging heavy like a banner –

that reads “Welcome home. You’re free.”

These rusted shackles cracked //

as my vision cleared quickly

in a spark-lit epiphany

I realized I had chained myself

to a beautiful memory-

And so the longest chapter 

has a rather ironic ending

& I guess you could say that 

it gracefully finished

with a musical flourish 

that in no way diminished

my years of naively wondering

but instead offered an answer

that my heart was begging.

& Just like that voice 

from the Wild wild West, (she sang it well)

But we sang it best,

We sang it all- with no more whys-

As you covered the clock to say goodbye. 

Advertisement