I emerged from the pub around midnight forty five <br />Half full or half empty was debatable. <br />The familiar walk was appealing <br />Semi suburban right and rural left. <br />Many times I'd pondered the contrast, <br />My autumn mind allowed ideas to fall to receptors <br />Provoking electrochemical images <br />Which oft were forgotten. <br />Not this time. <br />Black satanic curves of rock and heather <br />Eternally adhered to an impossible sky. <br />Low amber flecks tracing existence <br />Yet dwarfed against the majesty. <br />Three times I stopped and stared. <br />The third time I climbed the wall, <br />Ethereally removed from the silent path <br />I lay and infused the social drug. <br />How lucky was I to be surrounded <br />By icons of wild liberation. <br />Eventually and arguing internally <br />I tore myself from my soporific repose. <br />Intoxicated more by my vista <br />Than my degenerate imbibings, <br />The remaining perambulation was virtually transfixed <br />By tattooed cranial images <br />Which on this occasion <br />I eagerly surrendered <br />To my awaiting pages.<br /><br />Esra Sloblock<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/going-home-2/
