Indigenous Friend

Deep profound appreciation in those aquatic eyes.

No malice fur-lined.

Indifference in disguise.

Whether, wild, untamed, feral.

No written word to suffice.

Only man-made gestures to make what is captivating…

more comforting.

Agreeable and nice.

 

Small by the Roadside

I can stand, small by the roadside.

Or, tall beneath the archway of timber and emerald pine.

Trouble may beset me.

Chase all flaws out onto an unforgiving black top.

Nonetheless, no natural cadence to the man-made road.

Only optimism in the undiscovered broken bough.

Lyricism in the rusty, discarded plow.

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Twilight Confessions

Whimsically showing no mercy…a twilight delusion about the father.

What was it?

That he had wanted to convey.

Had he found someone new?

Perchance, the open door policy would not renew?

Years blinded by the light of ‘please forgive me.’

Chastised by the encampments of kingdoms to come.

Deceptively I had been a place-mat for all the evils done.

Celebrations of the good word.

Anchored to splintered wood.

Blindly, blatantly, above all else, god is good?

This becomes the flesh and the blood.

And, that benediction would be abusively…understood.

As the imagery of crosses burned into innocent skin…took a dreamy hold.

I stood fast.

I refused to kneel to man-made  molds.

Releasing, once again, all the fiction I had been told.

 

It is in the Way…We Walk

 

Letter from Mother…

Insinuate with soft, well, chosen strides.

Leave an open arm’s path…ahead and behind.

A venue for others to confide.

Not all season’s covet rebirth.

Ultimately, no man-made earth.

Contrite, as it appears.

Extinction grows near.

Beware an over harvest…coupled with a weighty appetite.

In every budding sapling, a saint, a sinner.

Nil is the return…on a landscape that cultivates thinner.

The shadow’s tire on decayed cornstalks.

In a layperson’s terms,

it is less in the way…

and,

more in why…

we walk.