Poem -

Heatherfield Lane

We are incased in stone
with Nature growing slow
At the boarder wall

Weeds reach for the sun
Cracking the grey pavement
Of our oily driveways

Birch branches tap
Upon window panes,
Roots grapple water mains
Drinking from old lead pipes

Tall grass tickles childrens legs
As they chase butterflies,
This suburban capsule
Our habitat, our place to hide

Far away from the tears
We grow ancient, like the trees,
To insure our survival
We simply turn a blind eye

Never stepping beyondΒ 
The Wooden signs thatΒ 
Inscribe the town's name
The town, of Heatherfield Lane.

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Cherie Leigh

Hi Gerard....Haunting...It's as if as we get older, we don't want to remember the past in order to avoid pain, but some of that pain is what helps us move forward too to avoid further pain.Β  Makes me wonder what all happened on Heatherfield Lane...lolΒ  I enjoyed the nostalgic feel of this....almost like a ghost town memory.Β  xoΒ  Β 

Gerard McGowan

Hi Cherie, Heatherfield Lane is a fictional place that mirrors my town, but it's more related to my mind and my mind's ability to live here, like all fictional writing, it stems from our perception of life. I can't rest here, I've always felt that this place will never be my home.

Thank you for readingΒ 

Love and light.