rattles in the wind,
crucified in the tree
fixed by twigs
poking holes in it.
It's always there;
too high to get down,
too worthless for
anyone to try.
It shakes its fists
in helpless rage,
and shouts to be released.
It never will;
it's stuck, and gradually
gale-by-gale becoming
increasingly tattered;
a weakening voice
bewailing its
abandonment.
No comments:
Post a Comment