He suffered for his birth
Emerging from a fixed vessel
fault lines ran through his nature
Chipped and cracked but never broken,
the shadow of his being
distorted through expectation's glasses
Stuffed with straw
he broke a cobweb of pain
Standing a palm in a pine forest
unseasoned loneliness tastes bland
salted with a handful of dirt
the sun smelled cold
In the blackness of its light
came the music of silence
Nurtured by rains of rejection
blooming ignorance blossomed
bearing a thick skinned fruit of insensitivity
sprouting green over a cesspool of progress
Now sated
death drives a dusty old Ford
and hell follows in a Bugatti
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: July 16th, 2023 06:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments3
I read this poem aloud several times, and each time I did, I felt that I found a clue to the nature of the scarecrow's suffering, in the illusion of life. My interpretation may be off, but I loved the mental exercise. Thank you dear friend, you always keep me thinking.
Thank you so much Bella I so appreciate the read. Don't feel bad about any interpretation on this one it was deliberately obscure. When you write about the dark side it must be obscure.
Clever, intriguing words soren.
Andy
Thank you Andy for the read and comment it is most appreciated.
effortless flow
rich with vivid and unique imagery
a great write! dear Poet
'unseasoned loneliness tastes bland
salted with a handful of dirt
the sun smelled cold
In the blackness of its light
came the music of silence'
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