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  • Writer's pictureChad Coburn


Updated: Apr 17, 2021


gently pouring down my cheek like a rainy day.

No where to go, no one will know. ​

How much farther on this journey?

For how much time has passed?

Like a child I want to crawl up in a ball and cry for my mother.

Abandoned, lost and cold.

But I must keep going.

The snow blowing in my face,

freezing my tears, worsening my fears.

A house, off in the distance; am I safe at last? Or will I seem like a homeless bum?

Each step gradually feels more timely than the last as I approach this house.

A figure, in the window, reminds me of someone I once knew.

Broken glass, their door opens, with their arms wide open.

My mother?

Looking all over?

For my dreams have messed with my reality: she did not abandon me, for I have abandoned myself.


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