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dan-schellPoems
Tumbleweed, tumbleweed, drying in the sun, which hidden pasture did you blow in from? Bands tan and brown, Crystals sticky white, I envision your owner dropping you in the night under glow of police light. Under watchful camera eye, along the rocky terrain, I see you tumbling down, torrents of soft green rain, fruit of the desert plain. Tumbleweed, tumbleweed, snatched from the ground, hiding in plain sight waiting to be found. A parting gift for the road stretching endlessly ahead battling sorrow and confusion, worn down like tire treads, a reprieve from a life that sometimes feels like death.
0
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 5:17 AM UTC
Tumbleweed
Tumbleweed, tumbleweed, drying in the sun, which hidden pasture did you blow in from? Bands tan and brown, Crystals sticky white, I envision your owner dropping you in the night under glow of police light. Under watchful camera eye, along the rocky terrain, I see you tumbling down, torrents of soft green rain, fruit of the desert plain. Tumbleweed, tumbleweed, snatched from the ground, hiding in plain sight waiting to be found. A parting gift for the road stretching endlessly ahead battling sorrow and confusion, worn down like tire treads, a reprieve from a life that sometimes feels like death.
Published in Panache, Sept. 2010
dan-schell
Written by
dan-schell
American
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 5:17 AM UTC
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