I'm crucified in creation,
The place I grew up is
Now merely a destination.
I can still hear the buzzards
Mewing shrilly on the breeze,
As they patrol the limestone fells,
Gaining height and speed with ease,
While all I do is slowly sink
In bitter recreation.
- Author: SerenWise ( Offline)
- Published: February 27th, 2020 23:21
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 46
Comments2
Those buzzards can lift you from your low place, just keep watching them and you will fly with them.
Andy
Very cool poem. I wonder what you mean by bitter recreation... hmmm
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