Behind the tall blades of grass,
He finds a place to lie,
Above the cold damp earth, beneath the open sky,
He trots thru open fields seeking a safe place to hide,
He lies beneath the moonlight, the heavens, and the stars,
Amongst the broken glass and gravel he kneels and cries out to God: " What the hell am I doing here?"
These are the makings of a madman's dream,
He marches thru the open fields so tired and alone,
Without a place to call his own,
But no one will ever know.
Hallucinations running rampant in his mind,
And wonders why God has forsaken him? When once he was so kind.
Within his view and out of reach all he had desired,but could never acquire.
"My God, my God why did you take my home, my pride and all I've ever known?"
But everything is borrowed and nothing is his own,
Behind the tall dry blades of grass...
He hides seeking his only refuge,
Covered in the **** and dirt that others left behind,
He tries to drown his deep depression 16oz. @ a time,
And running thru the killing fields he left his soul behind.
This poem describes a field my husband and I camped @when homeless.