The Track
The day had started badly
Rain pounded on the roof
His father at the window
As always, quiet aloof.

He huddled in the corner
To not attract his gaze
For knew that nothing that he did
Would ever be met with praise.

The wagon then was loaded
Each soaked then to the skin
They climbed aboard in silence
For their journey to begin.

The minutes turned to hours
As the horses pulled the way
He tried to stay well hidden
On the trip from day to day.

Few words were ever spoken
Betwixt parents or their kin
It seemed that by their failure
They were carpeted in sin.

Could all of been so different
If the nuggets had been real
Their efforts then rewarded
Their future not to steal.

Like others now defeated
The weary journey back
Long a deep and rutted pathway
And a soon forgotten track. .

Comments:
 
Michele   Michele wrote
on 9/29/2009 12:05:19 AM
"He knew that there was nothing, that would ever earn his praise"--sorry, I'm a little compulsive. This style of poetry is really up my alley... I really don't like to think I can edit anyone's writing, but those were the only lines that did not fit the scheme. I like the story--makes me think of a family of gypsies.

sabrinaa_smiless   sabrinaa_smiless wrote
on 9/27/2009 8:36:55 PM
You have beautiful writing, really brings the reader into it. I love it :].

markBrad
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