Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2013
...A wooden shed leaning
drunkenly...
propped atop erratically
rolling hills.
The breaking end of
schooling clouds...return
sunlight in their wake.
Idiotic tracts of land
left strangely...opened...candid.
An actual conversation...between
God and country.
Onoma
Written by
Onoma  NYC
(NYC)   
466
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems