Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2012
I allow my face to become a jungle.
No longer barrenβ€”
or devoid of fuzzy foliage.
The manmade steel that shredded  
and sliced the whisker trees
lays abandoned, somewhere
in a porcelain graveyard
rusting and eroding into ash--
slowly becoming one with nature
again.
Brycical
Written by
Brycical
Please log in to view and add comments on poems