We were glass
and hardened metal,
folded over and over
to rally our strength
and we hammered our sparks
with callous logic,
I splinter at change,
when lightning meets the bark
it parades into the roots
where leaves are blasted
before frying the farmer's lively hood,
A last gasp of cattle
huddling from the strobes
of indecent electrons releases
with no one to hear it,
A storm
wild storms
blow through me
whipping my locks
as if stallions couldn't stop
without the master's leash
calling on the bits to retract,
Skeletons
Wild skeletons
have set me on a course of
decisonless journies
all in all enough to make a
young man wonder where to go,
I was meant for more than stability,
My legs shackled up tight
to responsibility leaves me
at a sudden
but not unpredicted
disadvantage in my romantacism
of the kingdoms come and gone,
They would wish to ground the birds in us
but they miss,
with wicked arrows
how they must miss
Still just winging them enough
stunting growth
within our wild fertile bones
Wow,
this is beautiful. "Still just winging them enough/stunting growth/within our wild fertile bones" is just breathtaking.
Too nice.
Thanks for reading.
"Where do you go when nowhere feels like home?"-FBMF