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s-lyman-templePoems
weaving  through the farmland past black bodied cattle in misty fields of green zipping past the rows of Christmas trees varying heights we hit the sharp right at near 50 and dive into the Birch forest steep grade and a hard right down into the bottom of the glen and time slows the grass and brush glisten a little brighter and sunlight displaced gives shadows a playground of mossy Eden the trees seem to lean in surrounding the open meadow my pre-pubescent mind has relegated this the place of unicorns fairies and elves I hop up in the back of the backseat to watch utopia fade into the distance its delicate ferns and wild lilies dance in the breeze left by my father’s old blue Pontiac he yells and I turn quickly back into position locking the seat belt and looking at the red face in the rearview staring back this road is always worth the *** whooping --
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Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
where unicorns come from
weaving  through the farmland past black bodied cattle in misty fields of green zipping past the rows of Christmas trees varying heights we hit the sharp right at near 50 and dive into the Birch forest steep grade and a hard right down into the bottom of the glen and time slows the grass and brush glisten a little brighter and sunlight displaced gives shadows a playground of mossy Eden the trees seem to lean in surrounding the open meadow my pre-pubescent mind has relegated this the place of unicorns fairies and elves I hop up in the back of the backseat to watch utopia fade into the distance its delicate ferns and wild lilies dance in the breeze left by my father’s old blue Pontiac he yells and I turn quickly back into position locking the seat belt and looking at the red face in the rearview staring back this road is always worth the *** whooping --
poetry month prompt 11
s-lyman-temple
Written by
s-lyman-temple
American
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
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