Rhetoric


Crevices surround my veins…there is no glory here

Such as the rust from falling leaves

I would use my words

I recognize my words

My words do not recognize me

This inner rhetoric can be severe hanging like a web in the wind

Now and again, I am but a stranger with spindled oaky hands

remembering what is left of this land

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 )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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 )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.