Author Information
Eviction
Folder:
A Day In The Life overgrown weeds
dangling too damn close
to eyesore...
preaching songs of unity
but, never here long enough
to pay homage,
to do it up right,
to cross the bridges
travelled by lesser folk.
at least to the eyes
who watch movement,
who study intent,
who figure that everything
is black and white.
numbers over content,
hits over heart,
elapsed time over expression.
I never painted pastoral...
never intended for the words
to float where the wind goes...
never imagined that rhyme and reason
somehow fit together in the grand
scheme of things.
and I never really knew
how it would feel
to sit on the curb
in that favorite chair
at that special place
that used to be my home.
