Free verse № 29229
Panning for gold
I went on my way
in hopes to find....
But it seems all I created
was a mountainous pile of tree bark
for my blacktop plunderings.
And dreamland never came.
In the little bird house,
my grey mattered knife
cuts me again
Sending my ghost away
and leaving my eagle to cree-yaw
in its' cage.
44 comments
disregard.
Is this the wife again. If so, and Intrasit is hauling cars, well then you can call me sugar.
It's WI. I'm suddenly a truck driver (poet). What is that? Some kind of halfway house? poet,ha! I know you better than that.
what do I have in my bag here... Goof.(just for you)
bird screeching against being imprisoned.
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