June 19, 2008
Let me remain here
Amongst the swords of grass and sullen sunlight.
Holding hands with hostile childhood,
and Meandering middle-age.
The rain swelling the wood grain,
What good in pity?
The round sounds of snowflakes,
and open Mouths.
Where I belong:
Here; amongst deflated rubber balls, with the dour faces of Old age.
Ripe with wisdom, but lost amongst the dirt
and Leaves of autumn.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback