My front porch – A poem

Whenever my breath feels stale but I need to breathe,
I sit on my front porch (preferably in the early morning
But sometimes afternoon)
Only when it’s sunny
(Usually I have to squint my eyes but I don’t mind)
It cleanses me in a funny sort of way
(Even when it’s loud with endless planes
And cars and caravans
Travelling from the park up the road)
Everything seems quiet
Everything seems calm
The breeze settles a stillness within me
As I sit behind my white picket fence
The world seems at ease
And everyone and everything is just
Living their lonely lives

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Used to – A Poem

I got used to the way
The wind in the chimneys
Sounded like ghosts.
You get used to all the things
That scare you
Disappoint you
Hurt you
When they’ve happened
So many times
Yet got no further than
The fright
The disappointment
The pain.

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