There,a man stood on his voice
And stretched out the loneliness of his arms
He was crossed to the wind
Wisdom came
And put an absurdity hat
On his proud head
Love tore his clothes’ faith into rags
And as the mocking birds
Were drowned in the pleasure
Of pecking into his cold eyes
In his marshy truth
He stood still, upright and fable.
Now, he was nothing but
Just a mere scarecrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment