Steps To My House

The steps to my house as a child
Was nothing of mere concrete and wood,
An object, a tool, in being needed
It stood.

Sometimes when it rained they were
An upward escape to be dry-
On the sunniest days, I ran downward,
And at night when I had to return,
I cried.

In my childhood these steps,
This simple passage way,
Was always viewed as a leaving,
Or a place to stay.

Time kept rolling by,
Teenage years soon came,
But somehow these blocks of concrete,
Just didn’t mean the same.

At fifteen they were stepping-stones,
The days I had disinterest in home,
Most times I sought for their ruin,
Couldn’t they live alone?

Each step upwards,
A new battle to fight,
A boyfriend, a test, new arguments
Upon every flight.
Eighteen arrived,
Why those steps were best friends,
A path to college,
An adventure to begin.

Slowly adulthood crept in,
The steps now jaded,
The simple passage way I knew,
No longer strong, but faded.

A path to comfort,
Others times distain,
All lied upon these building blocks,
Stairs, was its name.