the owl

It always showed me a bed
My bed
No security
It just was

I could never see it, but it always
Rang true. Like a hand showing me the way home.

As the sound swept across I’m
Shown a blocky wooden house that
Grew like a wooden child, not unlike me.

It was always soft and sound.
A gentle echo that had no source
A friend, a stranger, a small dog who knows and follows.

I never did see. And I don’t
Think I ever do.





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Milo! said...
Mar. 14, 2010 at 11:23 am
I really love this. I really like how everyone can relate to this. I hope you keep writing, because this is great. You should check out some of my stuff. I think you would like it.
 
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