The crossroad that 
my life was
had been littered
objects haphazardly tossed
and people pitched 
some even piled 
all just waiting 
someone to come 
many I did
believing that trash
could be treasured 
placed before me 
but now those
very same things 
are behind me 
and in front 
nothing but road
and sky and 
the mountain horizon 

They say
that when 
the harp 
is plucked 
so is
the heart
maybe that 
is why 
when I 
hear it
I feel 
it too

I now hang
on some peg
at the end 
of a pier
having many times 
before been chucked 
overboard to save 
some did many
didn’t too many 
lost I now
wait in safety 
retired to this 
just a reminder 
that the seas
of life frequently 
reclaim their own 

No longer wishing 
to roar content 
with whispers to
those who listen 
the rustling leaves 
of my fall
play a music
few will hear 
my years now 
a comfortable porch
and the kind
of sun that 
warms never burning

Finally it’s mine 
back to mine 
this heart that 
was thine it’s 
back to being 
mine it’s a
sign that it’s 
time this rhyme 
no longer chimes
back in mind
this thing a
little heart that’s 
made of twine