john lindsay: Favorites

Dec 2016 john lindsay

Olivia Kent

I shall miss seeing the moon when I've died in my bed.
With a mound of cold earth on top of my head
The soil keeps me warm as my past life doth dawn.
For tonight the moon wears a beautiful silver aura,
Her face bright white on this cold night.
I shall miss seeing the moon when I'm dead in my bed.
The moon a pure lady.
Good God, I adore her.
(c)LIVVI

Feb 2016 john lindsay

LIBERTY

Feb 2016 john lindsay

Olivia Kent

LIBERTY

There are scars etched on the forest floor.
Left by the deer that walked before.
Peacefully.

Upon the plains the mustangs run free.
Free of reins and saddles as they pass.
As they flee the flailing arrows flung from bows.
Kicking heels.
Fractured grass and sand that blows.
Impressions in sand that go with the wind.
Faster than the mustangs.
Still free.
Unbridled.
Until they're broken by the men.
The men, they chase cows.
Corralled.
Fallen.
No longer free.
Oh to be a deer.
(c)LIVVI

— The End —