Realist Poem

Realist poem

On the way home.

On the way home there is a stone, a tree and my hat

there are birds that sing, dogs that pass by and their owners

one sunny corner and one with shadow

way in the light, the precious ones shine

I approach the corner, I go slowly, I still do not want to cross

I look at the clock, with a great aspiration I closed my eyes and turned around.

on the way home there is a red stone, a dry tree and my hat

shadows in the distance, sobs in the air, I do not know where they come from

the soil is wet, the water runs and bleeds the rock that forms the street

the corner moves away, the shadows come closer, I want to cross

I hurry, the wind pushes me, the hat falls down and it makes me flip

a shadow behind me, he takes it, he looks at me, he approaches, he runs, he runs towards me ...

the corner .. I close my eyes, exhale air, I turned around.

on the way home, there is a stone, two swallows and sunflowers on the sides

the sun is pink, its light gently caresses the asphalt, the breeze is heard and I close my eyes

the road home has no stops, no shortcuts

someone touches my back, a boy looks for me with his look

I turn and see his clothes, he is elegant, he is colorful, a little tie, leather shoes and red suit

he looks at me and smiles

extends his hand from his back, is my hat

it's time, he murmurs as he leaves quickly, crosses the street and vanishes in the corner

I follow him to thank him, but my feet can not anymore, I'm tired

I get to the corner, I look at the clock, it does not take long to be at home.

on the way home I forget my name, I can not find the rock, I do not see the trees

people become shade, the sun shines with colors and sometimes it gets dark at night

on the way home the floor shines and the birds sing, the breeze blows on my sanity and a child dresses elegantly

I cross the corners but I never arrive, it is the clock that marks moment

on the way home there are pieces of my memories, I am and my life frozen in a street

Storm and gentle breeze, the warmth of the sun and the sopping floor

On the way home, I look at the clock, it's time

a boy approaches me, I think I know him, he wears a dressing gown and leather shoes

takes me by the hand, on the way home I forget how to return

We are going slowly, the boy says a name, maybe it's mine

he takes me by the hand

I feel quiet

I feel relieved

we walk for a while, the street disappears and we come to a room

I open the door, there is no other way, I am already at home.