OPEN HARVEST

He was a life less used.  A flower

rejecting water.  He considers himself

a square, surrounded by a circle;

room to stretch but never enough to

change position.

 

The drumming of his words sway like

wheat heads driven by random winds as

his words release, explaining the

unnecessary.

 

He drums his fingers on a wall.  The beat

merging with a tune dribbling from

his lips.

 

He appears to be interested.  Listening

to those passing.  Forming opinions.

Sharing his thoughts with the uncaring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s