PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Bloom, drifting seeds
that sit inside your shells
watching the seagulls flutter
over the pavement.
He crept into a ball
and rolled into a fountain
of grape vines
growing casually upon the side of
the clapboard house.
Drift, dangerous passions
from cosmic clouds that
sputter ingratitude
upon the clear
 image
of the briefcase he
called a soul.
Sit amongst the flowers
where creations of
human touch become
freshly pounded.
Laughing, he lit a fire
that would somehow burn
his presence
into the mindset of a billion
hurting stars.
Fire spread, disease dying.
Wither, O angry man
who burns away his life
to avoid the truth.

The mud on the ground
is flowing from his soul.