Almost Home by Andrea Boltresz
oils (on democratic board)
Because the work itself must say a lot with little, I decided to
present my statement in the form of a poem.
I hear the talkers talking, of
My Start and of My End.
I see the watchers watching, as
They watch my spirit bend.
Will I live? Will I die?
I hear the talkers talk.
But talking will not help, I have to
Walk and walk and walk
The walk is long, the walk is sore,
I mostly walk alone.
A walk that never seems to end,
A walk that I must own.
I see the turning up ahead, the
Last bend in the road.
Golden light glows all around and
I am almost