The branches outline the silhouette
Of a man who stands so tall
Impossible to fill his shoes
The leaves will rustle as to shield the view
If we were to stand where he stood
And make that face adept as we could
Then they too would see right through
Nature calls, it does not scorn
As nature's walls we shall adorn
Once more...
And once more,
Rest in peace to our dearly departed
Nature calls, the very term juxtaposes the manor of which we regard it
Housing the same garden we were cast away from for being disobedient
The middle ground is now endowed with a crowd of saints and deviants
Our attention span and recollection then lasts about a week from the time of which the segment on the TV ends
I've seen false prophets staunchly abolished
Self-proclaimed propogating arbiters of knowledge
Even this poet's glass house never strays all too far from such prospects
I feel the true silhouette makes little distinction
When even said reflection is a blasphemous act of projection
When guised judgement cannot discern signs of intent or affection
When in the end the forbidden fruit come crashing down,
From that tree of which between one's silhouette's mimicry caws ravens sound... nevermore
YOU ARE READING
Free Verse Poetry: A Wayfarer's Train Of Thoughts
PoetryA collection of free verse poems to read at your leisure. Subject matter and overall mood varies heavily based on my source of inspiration. I'll add new ones whenever I feel compelled to write them. I hope you find something that resonates with you.
