In the best of company
Harmony days hand-picked for setting the baggage free.
Never far away from the mountain of tempestuous temperatures.
I had knocked on heaven’s door…
But in truth, it took one knock more.
My nemesis is my best friend.
On that outward voices can depend.
Pointing out my flaws…with no compliance to chivalry.
Directing my defects with purposeful mimicry.
He, she or it…the devil’s personal dictator.
Always in the background portraying a self-indulgent Master Piece theater…narrator.
He had never been an intended farmer
And, perhaps, Mr. Frost knew he never would be
Unintentionally up in the notches…working the land with hands calloused by tragedy
Cursed tractors, sullen cows, an unconditional hell’s paradise
Baskets of discoveries…In one’s own unmade garden
Trained to farm the land…Once gone…
I had no intention of going back.
Searching the pavement for creativity
poking about the neon
digging in dollar signs and dimes for deliberate self-discovery
The writings on the wall were slipping away into graffiti
So, maybe Mr. Frost had been an intended farmer, after all
His seeds of thought burning a hole in my pocket
His travels into struggle…
Left open for me green fields of self-discovery