Grass

November 29, 2009
Thousands of gleaming daggers stare at me
A shiny glimmering green like poison
An army, protruding from a brown shield dampened by the rain

Underground a dark barracks
Supported by cables, dangling from the ceiling
Created by massive beasts
As they slither through the corridors

They pray for a land without rain
That floods and destroys what they’ve built
And wait for the sun to dry up the cities

I amble, and ponder how the grass must feel as I mow it





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