Belonging

June 19, 2008
By Mercer Smith, Newport, RI

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.


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